"There you are, Perfishka—ten more!"
"My word! that's what I call treating!" cried Perfishka and beamed with joy.
"But tell me, how do you pray?" Lunev pressed him again.
"I? Quite simply. I don't know any prayers. I knew 'the Virgin Mother of God' once, but I forgot it long ago. There's a beggar's prayer: 'O Lord Jesus,' and so on, I know that by heart right to the end. Perhaps when I'm old I'll use it. But now I just pray in my own way. 'Lord have mercy,' I say."
Perfishka looked at the ceiling, nodded with conviction, and went on.
"He'll understand up there. Can I go now? I've an awful thirst."
"Go on—go on," said Ilya, and looked at Perfishka thoughtfully. "But see here, when the day comes, when the Lord asks you, How have you lived?"
"Then I'll say, 'when I was born I was small, and when I died I was dead drunk. So I don't know.' Then He'll laugh and forgive me."
The cobbler smiled pleasantly and hurried away.
Lunev remained in the cellar alone. He was strangely moved to think that Masha's pretty little face would never again appear to him in this narrow, dirty cave, and that Perfishka would soon be turned out.