The pilgrim replied, without looking at him:

“Perhaps.”

“I would like to speak to you,” announced Foma, timidly, in a low voice.

“Well, then, speak.”

“Come with me.”

“Whither?”

“To my cabin.”

The pilgrim looked into Foma’s face, and, after a moment’s silence, assented:

“Come.”

On leaving, Foma felt the looks of the peasants on his back, and now he was pleased to know that they were interested in him.