THE EXPEDITION TO THE MONASTERY
Several times that night I woke in terror at the thought that I might be oversleeping myself, and by six o'clock was out of bed, although the dawn was hardly peeping in at the window.I put on my clothes and boots (all of which were lying tumbled and unbrushed beside the bed, since Nicola, of course had not been in yet to tidy them up), and, without a prayer said or my face washed, emerged, for the first time in my life, into the street ALONE.
Over the way, behind the green roof of a large building, the dim, cold dawn was beginning to blush red.The keen frost of the spring morning which had stiffened the pools and mud and made them crackle under my feet now nipped my face and hands also.Not a cab was to be seen, though I had counted upon one to make the journey out and home the quicker.Only a file of waggons was rumbling along the Arbat Prospect, and a couple of bricklayers talking noisily together as they strode along the pavement.
However, after walking a verst or so I began to meet men and women taking baskets to market or going with empty barrels to fetch the day's water supply; until at length, at the cross streets near the Arbat Gate, where a pieman had set up his stall and a baker was just opening his shop, I espied an old cabman shaking himself after indulging in a nap on the box of his be-
scratched old blue-painted, hobble-de-hoy wreck of a drozhki.He seemed barely awake as he asked twenty copecks as the fare to the monastery and back, but came to himself a moment afterwards, just as I was about to get in, and, touching up his horse with the spare end of the reins, started to drive off and leave me."My horse wants feeding," he growled, "I can't take you, barin.[Sir]"
With some difficulty and a promise of FORTY copecks I persuaded him to stop.He eyed me narrowly as he pulled up, but nevertheless said: "Very well.Get in, barin." I must confess that I had some qualms lest he should drive me to a quiet corner somewhere, and then rob me, but I caught hold of the collar of his ragged driving-coat, close to where his wrinkled neck showed sadly lean above his hunched-up back, and climbed on to the blue-
painted, curved, rickety scat.As we set off along Vozdvizhenka Street, I noticed that the back of the drozhki was covered with a strip of the same greenish material as that of which his coat was made.For some reason or another this reassured me, and I no longer felt nervous of being taken to a quiet spot and robbed.
The sun had risen to a good height, and was gilding the cupolas of the churches, when we arrived at the monastery.In the shade the frost had not yet given, but in the open roadway muddy rivulets of water were coursing along, and it was through fast-
thawing mire that the horse went clip-clopping his way.
Alighting, and entering the monastery grounds, I inquired of the first monk whom I met where I could find the priest whom I was seeking.
"His cell is over there," replied the monk as he stopped a moment and pointed towards a little building up to which a flight of steps led.
