accustomed to live constantly in the
expectation of something momentous, something good. Young people were
circling around her, noisy, vigorous, full of life. Her son's
thoughtful and earnest face was always before her, and he seemed to be
the master and creator of this thrilling and noble life. Now he was
gone, everything was gone. In the whole day, no one except the
disagreeable Rybin had called.

Beyond the window, the dense, cold rain was sighing and knocking at the
panes. The rain and the drippings from the roof filled the air with a
doleful, wailing melody. The whole house appeared to be rocking gently
to and fro, and everything around her seemed aimless and unnecessary.

A gentle rap was heard at the door. It came once, and then a second
time. She had grown accustomed to these noises; they no longer
frightened her. A soft, joyous sensation thrilled her heart, and a
vague hope quickly brought her to her feet. Throwing a shawl over her
shoulders, she hurried to the door and opened it.

Samoylov walked in, followed by another man with his face hidden behind
the collar of his overcoat and under a hat thrust over his eyebrows.

"Did we wake you?" asked Samoylov, without greeting the mother, his
face gloomy and thoughtful, contrary to his wont.

"I was not asleep," she said, looking at them with expectant eyes.

Samoylov's companion took off his hat, and breathing heavily and
hoarsely said in a friendly basso, like an old acquaintance, giving her
his broad, short-fingered hand:

"Good evening, granny! You don't recognize me?"

"Is it you?" exclaimed Nilovna, with a sudden access of delight. "Yegor
Ivanovich?"

"The very same identical one!" replied he, bowing his large head with
its long hair. There was a good-natured smile on his face, and a
clear, caressing look in his small gray eyes. He was like a
samovar--rotund, short, with thick neck and short arms. His face was
shiny and glossy, with high cheek bones. He breathed noisily, and his
chest kept up a continuous low wheeze.

"Step into the room. I'll be dressed in a minute," the mother said.

"We have come to you on business," said Samoylov thoughtfully, looking
at her out of the corner of his eyes.

Yegor Ivanovich passed into the room, and from there said:

"Nikolay got out of jail this morning, granny. You know him?"

"How long was he there?" she asked.

"Five months and eleven days. He saw the Little Russian there, who
sends y