But the deacon’s wife, frightened by the dogs, and muttering in a whining tone, sat down on a bench near the gate and asked the janitor to take her by. Tíkhonovna made her customary bow to the janitor and, leaning on her crutch and spreading her feet, which were tightly covered with leg-rags, stopped near her, looking as always calmly in front of her and waiting for the janitor to come up to them.

“Whom do you want?” the janitor asked.

“Do you not recognize us, dear man? Is not your name Egór?” asked the deacon’s wife. “We are coming back from the saints, and so are calling on her Serenity.”

“You are from Izlegóshcha,” said the janitor. “You are the wife of the old deacon⁠—of course. All right, all right. Go to the house! Everybody is received here⁠—nobody is refused. And who is this one?”

He pointed to Tíkhonovna.