“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, Kasátsky 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, Páshenka! 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 it would make you feel awkward. Thank you, and forgive me for Christ’s sake!”
“Give me your blessing.”
“God bless you! Forgive me for Christ’s sake!”
He rose, but she would not let him go until she had given him bread and butter and rusks. He took it all and went away.
It was dark, and before he had passed the second house he was lost to sight. She only knew he was there because the dog at the priest’s house was barking.