The watchman went away, and a few minutes later opened the door and let in a rather short, lean old man with thick hair, a thin, grizzly goat’s beard, and kindly weary blue eyes.

“What do you want?” asked Mezhenétsky.

The old man glanced at him, and quickly dropping his eyes again, held out his small, thin but energetic hand.

“What do you want?”

“I want a word with thee.”

“What word?”

“About faith.”

“What faith?”

“They say thou art of the same faith as that youth that Antichrist’s servants strangled with a rope in Odessa.”