The next day I see Yakoff take his cap....  I think to myself:  “Shall I ask him whither he is going?—­But no, better not ask ... it certainly must be to her!"...  And, in point of fact, Yakoff did set off for Marfa Savishna’s house—­and sat with her still longer than before; and on the day following he did it again!  Then again, the next day but one!  My spirits began to revive, for I saw that a change was coming over my son, and his face had grown quite different, and it was becoming possible to look into his eyes:  he did not turn away.  He was just as depressed as ever, but his former despair and terror had disappeared.  But before I had recovered my cheerfulness to any great extent everything again broke off short!  Yakoff again became wild, and again it was impossible to approach him.  He sat locked up in his little room, and went no more to the widow’s.

“Can it be possible,” I thought, “that he has hurt her feelings in some way, and she has forbidden him the house?—­But no,” I thought ... “although he is unhappy he would not dare to do such a thing; and besides, she is not that sort of woman.”

At last I could endure it no longer, and I interrogated him:  “Well, Yakoff, how about our neighbour?...  Apparently thou hast forgotten her altogether.”

But he fairly roared at me:—­“Our neighbour?  Dost thou want him to jeer at me?”

“What?” I say.—­Then he even clenched his fists and ... got perfectly furious.

“Yes!” he says; and formerly he had only towered up after a fashion, but now he began to laugh and show his teeth.—­“Away!  Begone!”

To whom these words were addressed I know not!  My legs would hardly bear me forth, to such a degree was I frightened.  Just imagine:  his face was the colour of red copper, he was foaming at the mouth, his voice was hoarse, exactly as though some one were choking him!...  And that very same day I went—­I, the orphan of orphans—­to Marfa Savishna ... and found her in great affliction.  Even her outward appearance had undergone a change:  she had grown thin in the face.  But she would not talk with me about my son.  Only one thing she did say:  that no human aid could effect anything in that case.  “Pray, father,” she said,—­and then she presented me with one hundred rubles,—­“for the poor and sick of your parish,” she said.  And again she repeated:  “Pray!”—­O Lord!  As if I had not prayed without that—­prayed day and night!

Here Father Alexyei again pulled out his handkerchief, and again wiped away his tears, but not by stealth this time, and after resting for a little while, he resumed his cheerless narrative.