'And do you pray at home?'

'I do. But what sort of prayer is it? Only mechanical. I know it should
not be like that, but I lack real religious feeling. The only thing is
that I know how bad I am . . .'

'Yes, yes, that's right!' said Kasatsky, as if approvingly.

'I'm coming! I'm coming!' she replied to a call from her son-in-law, and
tidying her scanty plait she left the room.

But this time it was long before she returned. When she came back,
Kasatsky was sitting in the same position, his elbows resting on his
knees and his head bowed. But his wallet was strapped on his back.

When she came in, carrying a small tin lamp without a shade, he raised
his fine weary eyes and sighed very deeply.

'I did not tell them who you are,' she began timidly. 'I only said that
you are a pilgrim, a nobleman, and that I used to know you. Come into
the dining-room for tea.'

'No . . .'

'Well then, I'll bring some to you here.'

'No, I don't want anything. God bless you, Pashenka! I am going now. If
you pity me, don't tell anyone that you have seen me. For the love of
God don't tell anyone. Thank you. I would bow to your feet but I know