The day on which it was intended to despatch it to the journal was a very memorable one for him. Navagin remembers that on that never-to-be-forgotten day the secretary who had made a fair copy of his article and the sacristan of the parish who had been sent for on business were in his study. Nayagin’s face was beaming. He looked lovingly at his creation, felt between his fingers how thick it was, and with a happy smile said to the secretary:

“I propose, Filipp Sergeyitch, to send it registered. It will be safer.⁠ ⁠…” And raising his eyes to the sacristan, he said: “I have sent for you on business, my good man. I am putting my youngest son to the high school and I must have a certificate of baptism; only could you let me have it quickly?”

“Very good, your Excellency!” said the sacristan, bowing. “Very good, I understand.⁠ ⁠…”

“Can you let me have it by tomorrow?”

“Very well, your Excellency, set your mind at rest! Tomorrow it shall be ready! Will you send someone to the church tomorrow before evening service? I shall be there. Bid him ask for Fedyukov. I am always there.⁠ ⁠…”

“What!” cried the general, turning pale.

“Fedyukov.”

“You,⁠ ⁠… you are Fedyukov?” asked Navagin, looking at him with wide-open eyes.

“Just so, Fedyukov.”

“You⁠ ⁠… you signed your name in my hall?”

“Yes⁠ ⁠…” the sacristan admitted, and was overcome with confusion. “When we come with the Cross, your Excellency, to grand gentlemen’s houses I always sign my name.⁠ ⁠… I like doing it.⁠ ⁠… Excuse me, but when I see the list of names in the hall I feel an impulse to sign mine.⁠ ⁠…”