"Speaking generally, you know, the spiritual fare provided for the
people is not of the first quality," he added, and heaved through
his nose a long and very melancholy sigh, meant to show me that I
had to do with a man who really knew something about spiritual fare.

While I was looking for the matches to light a candle he sighed
once more and said:

"When I was in Harkov I went several times to the anatomy theatre
and saw the bones there; I have even been in the mortuary. Am I not
in your way?"

My room was small and poky, with neither table nor chairs in it,
but quite filled up with a chest of drawers by the window, the stove
and two little wooden sofas which stood against the walls, facing
one another, leaving a narrow space to walk between them. Thin
rusty-looking little mattresses lay on the little sofas, as well
as my belongings. There were two sofas, so this room was evidently
intended for two, and I pointed out the fact to my companion.

"They will soon be ringing for mass, though," he said, "and I shan't
have to be in your way very long."

Still under the impression that he was in my way and feeling awkward,
he moved with a guilty step to his little sofa, sighed guiltily and
sat down. When the tallow candle with its dim, dilatory flame had
left off flickering and burned up sufficiently to make us both
visible, I could make out what he was like. He was a young man of
two-and-twenty, with a round and pleasing face, dark childlike eyes,
dressed like a townsman in grey cheap clothes, and as one could
judge from his complexion and narrow shoulders, not used to manual
labour. He was of a very indefinite type; one could take him neither
for a student nor for a man in trade, still less for a workman. But
looking at his attractive face and childlike friendly eyes, I was
unwilling to believe he was one of those vagabond impostors with
whom every conventual establishment where they give food and lodging
is flooded, and who give themselves out as divinity students,
expelled for standing up for justice, or for church singers who
have lost their voice. . . . There was something characteristic,
typical, very familiar in his face, but what exactly, I could not
remember nor make out.

For a long time he sat silent, pondering. Probably because I had
not shown appreciation of his remarks about bones and the mortuary,
he thought that I was ill-humoured and displeased at his presence.
Pulling a sausage out of his pocket, h