"I have nowhere to run to, my brother, nowhere!" said his companion calmly.
"Well, well!" exclaimed his escort, incredulously, and even waved his hand. "There's always somewhere to run to. The earth is large. There is always room for a man on it."
"But what do you mean? Do you really want me to run away, then?" inquired the prisoner curiously, with a smile.
"Go along! You are really too good! Is that right now? You run away, and instead of you someone else is put into gaol! I also should be locked up. No, thank you. I've a word, to say to that."
"You are a blessed fool, you are ... but you seem a good sort of muzhik too," said Efimushka's comrade with a sigh. Efimushka did not hesitate to agree with him.
"Exactly, they do call me blessed sometimes, and it is also true that I am a good muzhik. I am simple-minded, that's the chief cause of it. Other folks get on by artfulness and cunning, but what is that to me? I am a man all by myself in the world. Deal falsely—and you will die; deal justly—and you will die all the same. So I always keep straight, it is greater."
"You're a good fellow!" observed his companion indifferently.
"How! Why should I make my soul crooked when I stand here all alone. I'm a free man, little brother. I live as I wish to live, I go through life and am a law to myself.... Well, well!—But, say! what do they call you?"
"What? Well—say Ivan Ivanov."
"So! Are you of a priestly stock or what?"