lo, you are caught!" he exclaimed as he ran to Woloda with little
short steps and, seizing him round the head, looked at it searchingly.
Next he left him, went to the table, and, with a perfectly serious
expression on his face, began to blow under the oil-cloth, and to make
the sign of the cross over it, "O-oh, what a pity! O-oh, how it hurts!
They are angry! They fly from me!" he exclaimed in a tearful choking
voice as he glared at Woloda and wiped away the streaming tears with his
sleeve, His voice was harsh and rough, all his movements hysterical and
spasmodic, and his words devoid of sense or connection (for he used no
conjunctions). Yet the tone of that voice was so heartrending, and his
yellow, deformed face at times so sincere and pitiful in its expression,
that, as one listened to him, it was impossible to repress a mingled
sensation of pity, grief, and fear.

This was the idiot Grisha. Whence he had come, or who were his parents,
or what had induced him to choose the strange life which he led, no
one ever knew. All that I myself knew was that from his fifteenth year
upwards he had been known as an imbecile who went barefooted both in
winter and summer, visited convents, gave little images to any one who
cared to take them, and spoke meaningless words which some people took
for prophecies; that nobody remembered him as being different; that at,
rare intervals he used to call at Grandmamma's house; and that by some
people he was said to be the outcast son of rich parents and a pure,
saintly soul, while others averred that he was a mere peasant and an
idler.

At last the punctual and wished-for Foka arrived, and we went
downstairs. Grisha followed us sobbing and continuing to talk nonsense,
and knocking his staff on each step of the staircase. When we entered
the drawing-room we found Papa and Mamma walking up and down there, with
their hands clasped in each other's, and talking in low tones. Maria
Ivanovna was sitting bolt upright in an arm-chair placed at tight angles
to the sofa, and giving some sort of a lesson to the two girls sitting
beside her. When Karl Ivanitch entered the room she looked at him for a
moment, and then turned her eyes away with an expression which seemed to
say, "You are beneath my notice, Karl Ivanitch." It was easy to see from
the girls' eyes that they had important news to communicate to us as
soon as an opportunity occurred (for to leave their seats and approach
us first was contrary