“Will Your Excellency allow me to speak to you apart?” said the sheriff at last.
Kirila Petrovitch conducted him into the next room and locked the door after him.
Half an hour afterwards they returned to the hall, where the captive was awaiting the decision respecting his fate.
“The master wished,” said the sheriff to him, “to have you locked up in the town gaol, to be whipped, and then to be sent to the convict settlement; but I interceded for you and have obtained your pardon. Untie him!”
The lad was unbound.
“Thank the master,” said the sheriff.
The lad went up to Kirila Petrovitch and kissed his hand.
“Run away home,” said Kirila Petrovitch to him, “and in future do not steal raspberries from oak trees.”
The lad went out, ran merrily down the steps, and without looking behind him, dashed off across the fields in the direction of Kistenevka. On reaching the village, he stopped at a half-ruined hut, the first from the corner, and tapped at the window. The window was opened, and an old woman appeared.
“Grandmother, some bread!” said the boy: “I have eaten nothing since this morning; I am dying of hunger.”