“‘Would you like a drink of cold water?’ I asked him.
“‘Give me some, and may God repay you, Astafi Ivanich.’
“‘Would you like anything else, Emelian?’
“‘No, Astafi Ivanich, I do not want anything, but I—’
“‘What?’
“‘You know that—’
“‘What is it you want, Emelian?’
“‘The breeches.—You know.—It was I who took them—Astafi Ivanich—’
“‘Well,’ I said, ‘the great God will forgive you, Emelian, poor, unfortunate fellow that you are! Depart in peace.’
“And I had to turn away my head for a moment because grief for the poor devil took my breath away and the tears came in torrents from my eyes.