rnished.

I approached from Nikolsky Alley. Nikolsky Alley ends on the left in a
gloomy house, without any gates on that side; I divined from its
appearance that this was the Rzhanoff fortress.

Passing down Nikolsky Street, I overtook some lads of from ten to
fourteen years of age, clad in little caftans and great-coats, who were
sliding down hill, some on their feet, and some on one skate, along the
icy slope beside this house. The boys were ragged, and, like all city
lads, bold and impudent. I stopped to watch them. A ragged old woman,
with yellow, pendent cheeks, came round the corner. She was going to
town, to the Smolensk market, and she groaned terribly at every step,
like a foundered horse. As she came alongside me, she halted and drew a
hoarse sigh. In any other locality, this old woman would have asked
money of me, but here she merely addressed me.

"Look there," said she, pointing at the boys who were sliding, "all they
do is to play their pranks! They'll turn out just such Rzhanoff fellows
as their fathers."

One of the boys clad in a great-coat and a visorless cap, heard her words
and halted: "What are you scolding about?" he shouted to the old woman.
"You're an old Rzhanoff nanny-goat yourself!"

I asked the boy:

"And do you live here?"

"Yes, and so does she. She stole boot-legs," shouted the boy; and
raising his foot in front, he slid away.

The old woman burst forth into injurious words, interrupted by a cough.
At that moment, an old man, all clad in rags, and as white as snow, came
down the hill in the middle of the street, flourishing his hands [in one
of them he held a bundle with one little _kalatch_ and _baranki_" {39}].
This old man bore the appearance of a person who had just strengthened
himself with a dram. He had evidently heard the old woman's insulting
words, and he took her part.

"I'll give it to you, you imps, that I will!" he screamed at the boys,
seeming to direct his course towards them, and taking a circuit round me,
he stepped on to the sidewalk. This old man creates surprise on the
Arbata by his great age, his weakness, and his indigence. Here he was a
cheery laboring-man returning from his daily toil.

I followed the old man. He turned the corner to the left, into
Prototchny Alley, and passing by the whole length of the house and the
gate, he disappeared through the door of the tavern.

Two gates and several doors open on Prototchny Alley: those belonging