ill him!" A despairing shout was suddenly heard somewhere
very close at hand.

A shot rang out at once. Seeing that Laevsky remained standing where
he was and did not fall, they all looked in the direction from which
the shout had come, and saw the deacon. With pale face and wet hair
sticking to his forehead and his cheeks, wet through and muddy, he
was standing in the maize on the further bank, smiling rather queerly
and waving his wet hat. Sheshkovsky laughed with joy, burst into
tears, and moved away. . . .

XX

A little while afterwards, Von Koren and the deacon met near the
little bridge. The deacon was excited; he breathed hard, and avoided
looking in people's faces. He felt ashamed both of his terror and
his muddy, wet garments.

"I thought you meant to kill him . . ." he muttered. "How contrary
to human nature it is! How utterly unnatural it is!"

"But how did you come here?" asked the zoologist.

"Don't ask," said the deacon, waving his hand. "The evil one tempted
me, saying: 'Go, go. . . .' So I went and almost died of fright in
the maize. But now, thank God, thank God. . . . I am awfully pleased
with you," muttered the deacon. "Old Grandad Tarantula will be glad
. . . . It's funny, it's too funny! Only I beg of you most earnestly
don't tell anybody I was there, or I may get into hot water with
the authorities. They will say: 'The deacon was a second.'"

"Gentlemen," said Von Koren, "the deacon asks you not to tell any
one you've seen him here. He might get into trouble."

"How contrary to human nature it is!" sighed the deacon. "Excuse
my saying so, but your face was so dreadful that I thought you were
going to kill him."

"I was very much tempted to put an end to that scoundrel," said Von
Koren, "but you shouted close by, and I missed my aim. The whole
procedure is revolting to any one who is not used to it, and it has
exhausted me, deacon. I feel awfully tired. Come along. . . ."

"No, you must let me walk back. I must get dry, for I am wet and
cold."

"Well, as you like," said the zoologist, in a weary tone, feeling
dispirited, and, getting into the carriage, he closed his eyes. "As
you like. . . ."

While they were moving about the carriages and taking their seats,
Kerbalay stood in the road, and, laying his hands on his stomach,
he bowed low, showing his teeth; he imagined that the gentry had
come to enjoy the beauties of nature and drink tea, and could not
understand why they were getti