Seven years had passed by. I don't think it necessary to relate all
that happened to me during that period. I moved restlessly about over
Russia, and made my way into the remotest wilds, and thank God I did!
The wilds are not so much to be dreaded as some people suppose, and in
the most hidden places, under the fallen twigs and rotting leaves in
the very heart of the forest, spring up flowers of sweet fragrance.

One day in spring, as I was passing on some official duties through a
small town in one of the outlying provinces of Eastern Russia, through
the dim little window of my coach I saw standing before a shop in the
square a man whose face struck me as exceedingly familiar. I looked
attentively at the man, and to my great delight recognised him as
Elisei, Pasinkov's servant.

I at once told the driver to stop, jumped out of the coach, and went up
to Elisei.

'Hullo, friend!' I began, with difficulty concealing my excitement;
'are you here with your master?'

'Yes, I'm with my master,' he responded slowly, and then suddenly cried
out: 'Why, sir, is it you? I didn't know you.'

'Are you here with Yakov Ivanitch?'

'Yes, sir, with him, to be sure ... whom else would I be with?'

'Take me to him quickly.'

'To be sure! to be sure! This way, please, this way ... we're stopping