oss his beard, the trotters dashed forward, and all
disappeared!

On the following day, sinful man that I am, I did go to Sokolniki, and
actually did see the tent with the pennant and the inscription. The
tent-flaps were raised; an uproar, crashing, squealing, proceeded
thence. A crowd of people thronged around it. On the ground, on an
outspread rug, sat the Gipsy men and Gipsy women, singing, and thumping
tambourines; and in the middle of them, with a guitar in his hands, clad
in a red-silk shirt and full trousers of velvet, Misha was gyrating like
a whirligig.--"Gentlemen! Respected sirs! Pray enter! The performance is
about to begin! Free!"--he was shouting in a cracked voice.--"Hey there!
Champagne! Bang! In the forehead! On the ceiling! Akh, thou rascal, Paul
de Kock!"--Luckily, he did not catch sight of me, and I hastily beat a
retreat.

I shall not dilate, gentlemen, on my amazement at the sight of such a
change. And, as a matter of fact, how could that peaceable, modest lad
suddenly turn into a tipsy good-for-nothing? Was it possible that all
this had been concealed within him since his childhood, and had
immediately come to the surface as soon as the weight of parental
authority had been removed from him?--And that he had kicked up a dust
in Moscow, as he had expressed it, there could be no possible doubt,
either. I had seen rakes in my day; but here something frantic, some
frenzy of self-extermination, some sort of recklessness, had made itself
manifest!

III

This diversion lasted for two months.... And lo! again I am standing at
the window of the drawing-room and looking out into the courtyard....
Suddenly--what is this?... Through the gate with quiet step enters a
novice.... His conical cap is pulled down on his brow, his hair is
combed smoothly and flows from under it to right and left ... he wears a
long cassock and a leather girdle.... Can it be Misha? It is!

I go out on the steps to meet him.... "What is the meaning of this
masquerade?" I ask.

"It is not a masquerade, uncle," Misha answers me, with a deep
sigh;--"but as I have squandered all my property to the last kopek, and
as a mighty repentance has seized upon me, I have made up my mind to
betake myself to the Troitzko-Sergieva Lavra,[9] to pray away my sins.
For what asylum is now left to me?... And so I have come to bid you
farewell, uncle, like the Prodigal Son...."

I gazed intently at Misha. His face was the same as ever, fre