another with him, a friend of his, or a fellow traveler, there’s no telling. They’re dressed like civilians.”
“Well, are they feasting? Have they money?”
“Poor sort of a feast! Nothing to boast of, Dmitri Fyodorovitch.”
“Nothing to boast of? And who are the others?”
“They’re two gentlemen from the town. … They’ve come back from Tcherny, and are putting up here. One’s quite a young gentleman, a relative of Mr. Miüsov, he must be, but I’ve forgotten his name … and I expect you know the other, too, a gentleman called Maximov. He’s been on a pilgrimage, so he says, to the monastery in the town. He’s traveling with this young relation of Mr. Miüsov.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Stay, listen, Trifon Borissovitch. Tell me the chief thing: What of her? How is she?”
“Oh, she’s only just come. She’s