Varvara Petrovna bent an imperious and inquiring gaze on all around her. Everyone was silent.

“You are unhappy? You are in need of help?”

“I am in need.⁠ ⁠… I have come⁠ ⁠…” faltered the “unhappy” creature, in a voice broken with emotion. “I have come only to kiss your hand.⁠ ⁠…”

Again she giggled. With the childish look with which little children caress someone, begging for a favour, she stretched forward to seize Varvara Petrovna’s hand, but, as though panic-stricken, drew her hands back.

“Is that all you have come for?” said Varvara Petrovna, with a compassionate smile; but at once she drew her mother-of-pearl purse out of her pocket, took out a ten-rouble note and gave it to the unknown. The latter took it. Varvara Petrovna was much interested and evidently did not look upon her as an ordinary low-class beggar.

“I say, she gave her ten roubles!” someone said in the crowd.