At the end of every walk he treated Yevsey to tea in a tavern, where musical machines played. Here everybody knew the old man, and behaved toward him with timid respect. Yevsey grown tired, his brain dizzied by the cloud of heavy odors, would fall into drowsy silence under the rattle and din of the music.
Once, however, the master took him to a house which contained numerous articles of gold and silver, marvellous weapons, and garments of silk brocade. Suddenly the mother's forgotten tales began to beat in the boy's breast, and a winged hope trembled in his heart. He walked silently through the rooms for a long time, disconcertedly blinking his eyes, which burned greedily.
When they returned home he asked the master:
"Whose are they?"
"They are public property—the Czar's," the old man explained impressively.
The boy put more questions.
"Who wore such coats and sabres?"
"Czars, boyars, and various imperial persons."
"There are no such people to-day?"
"How so? Of course there are. It would be impossible to be without them. Only now they dress differently."