ugh the books," said
Pierre.

"Be so good as to step in. Makar Alexeevich, the brother of my late
master--may the kingdom of heaven be his--has remained here, but he is
in a weak state as you know," said the old servant.

Pierre knew that Makar Alexeevich was Joseph Bazdeev's half-insane
brother and a hard drinker.

"Yes, yes, I know. Let us go in..." said Pierre and entered the house.

A tall, bald-headed old man with a red nose, wearing a dressing gown and
with galoshes on his bare feet, stood in the anteroom. On seeing Pierre
he muttered something angrily and went away along the passage.

"He was a very clever man but has now grown quite feeble, as your honor
sees," said Gerasim. "Will you step into the study?" Pierre nodded. "As
it was sealed up so it has remained, but Sophia Danilovna gave orders
that if anyone should come from you they were to have the books."

Pierre went into that gloomy study which he had entered with such
trepidation in his benefactor's lifetime. The room, dusty and untouched
since the death of Joseph Bazdeev was now even gloomier.

Gerasim opened one of the shutters and left the room on tiptoe. Pierre
went round the study, approached the cupboard in which the manuscripts
were kept, and took out what had once been one of the most important,
the holy of holies of the order. This was the authentic Scotch Acts
with Bazdeev's notes and explanations. He sat down at the dusty writing
table, and, having laid the manuscripts before him, opened them out,
closed them, finally pushed them away, and resting his head on his hand
sank into meditation.

Gerasim looked cautiously into the study several times and saw Pierre
always sitting in the same attitude.

More than two hours passed and Gerasim took the liberty of making a
slight noise at the door to attract his attention, but Pierre did not
hear him.

"Is the cabman to be discharged, your honor?"

"Oh yes!" said Pierre, rousing himself and rising hurriedly. "Look
here," he added, taking Gerasim by a button of his coat and looking down
at the old man with moist, shining, and ecstatic eyes, "I say, do you
know that there is going to be a battle tomorrow?"

"We heard so," replied the man.

"I beg you not to tell anyone who I am, and to do what I ask you."

"Yes, your excellency," replied Gerasim. "Will you have something to
eat?"

"No, but I want something else. I want peasant clothes and a pistol,"
said Pierre, unexpectedly blushing.