he got up again. There was a faint smile on his lips.
“Goodbye! Forgive me, all of you!” he said, bowing on all sides to his guests.
Dmitri stood for a few moments in amazement. Bowing down to him—what did it mean? Suddenly he cried aloud, “Oh, God!” hid his face in his hands, and rushed out of the room. All the guests flocked out after him, in their confusion not saying goodbye, or bowing to their host. Only the monks went up to him again for a blessing.
“What did it mean, falling at his feet like that? Was it symbolic or what?” said Fyodor Pavlovitch, suddenly quieted and trying to reopen conversation without venturing to address anybody in particular. They were all passing out of the precincts of the hermitage at the moment.
“I can’t answer for a madhouse and for madmen,” Miüsov answered at once ill-humoredly, “but I