But Stepánych made the sign of the cross, thanked him for the tea, pushed the glass away from him, and got up.
"Thank you, Martýn Avdyéich," he said. "You were hospitable to me, and have given food to my body and my soul."
"You are welcome. Come in again,—I shall be glad to see you," said Avdyéich.
Stepánych went away. Martýn poured out the last tea, finished another glass, put away the dishes, and again sat down at the window to work,—to tap a boot. And as he worked, he kept looking out of the window,—waiting for Christ and thinking of Him and His works. And all kinds of Christ's speeches ran through his head.
There passed by two soldiers, one in Crown boots, the other in boots of his own; then the proprietor of a neighbouring house came by in clean galoshes, and then a baker with a basket. All of these went past the window, and then a woman in woollen stockings and peasant shoes came in line with the window. She went by the window and stopped near a wall. Avdyéich looked at her through the window, and saw that she was a strange, poorly dressed woman, with a child: she had stopped with her back to the wind and was trying to wrap the child, though she did not have anything to wrap it in. The woman's clothes were for the summer, and scanty at that. Avdyéich could hear the child cry in the street, and her vain attempt to quiet it. Avdyéich got up and went out of his room and up to the staircase, and called out:
"Clever Woman! Clever woman!"
The woman heard him and turned around.
"Why are you standing there in the cold with the child? Come in here! It will be easier for you to wrap the child in a warm room. Here, this way!"
The woman was surprised. She saw an old man in an apron, with glasses over his nose, calling to her. She followed him in.