"You were at the Abbot's, brother?"
"Yes."
"Did you talk with him?"
"No."
"He sent you away?"
"Why should he?"
Grisha fixed his glasses, became confused and said.
"I beg your pardon, in Christ's name."
"Did he ever send you away?" I asked.
He nodded affirmatively and sat down on the edge of the flour bin, bent forward, coughed dryly and beat the bin with a hook while I told him what the Abbot had said to me. Suddenly he jumped up, straightened to his full height as if on springs, and began to speak in his loud, plaintive, excited voice: