“From Vladímir. My family are of that town. My name is Makár, and they also call me Semyónitch.”
Aksyónof raised his head and said: “Tell me, Semyónitch, do you know anything of the merchants Aksyónof, of Vladímir? Are they still alive?”
“Know them? Of course I do. The Aksyónofs are rich, though their father is in Siberia: a sinner like ourselves, it seems! As for you, Gran’dad, how did you come here?”
Aksyónof did not like to speak of his misfortune. He only sighed, and said, “For my sins I have been in prison these twenty-six years.”
“What sins?” asked Makár Semyónitch.
But Aksyónof only said, “Well, well—I must have deserved it!” He would have said no more, but his companions told the newcomer how Aksyónof came to be in Siberia: how someone had killed a merchant, and had put a knife among Aksyónof’s things, and Aksyónof had been unjustly condemned.
When Makár Semyónitch heard this, he looked at Aksyónof, slapped his own knee, and exclaimed, “Well, this is wonderful! Really wonderful! But how old you’ve grown, Gran’dad!”
The others asked him why he was so surprised, and where he had seen Aksyónof before; but Makár Semyónitch did not reply. He only said: “It’s wonderful that we should meet here, lads!”
These words made Aksyónof wonder whether this man knew who had killed the merchant; so he said, “Perhaps, Semyónitch, you have heard of that affair, or maybe you’ve seen me before?”
“How could I help hearing? The world’s full of rumours. But it’s long ago, and I’ve forgotten what I heard.”