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 Mísha? 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," Mísha answers me, with a deep sigh;—"but as I have squandered all my property to the last kopék, and as a mighty repentance has seized upon me, I have made up my mind to betake myself to the Tróitzko-Sérgieva Lávra,[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 Mísha. His face was the same as ever, fresh and rosy (by the way, it never changed to the very end), and his eyes were humid and caressing and languishing, and his hands were small and white…. But he reeked of liquor.
"Very well!" I said at last: "It is a good move if there is no other issue. But why dost thou smell of liquor?"
"Old habit," replied Mísha, and suddenly burst out laughing, but immediately caught himself up, and making a straight, low, monastic obeisance, he added:—"Will not you contribute something for the journey? For I am going to the monastery on foot…."
"When?"
"To-day … at once."
"Why art thou in such a hurry?"