in
church in the first row on the left, and a footman in livery had put
down a velvet cushion for her to kneel on; everything in fact, had been
as usual. But it was noticed, too, that all through the service she
prayed with extreme fervour. It was even asserted afterwards when people
recalled it, that she had had tears in her eyes. The service was over at
last, and our chief priest, Father Pavel, came out to deliver a solemn
sermon. We liked his sermons and thought very highly of them. We used
even to try to persuade him to print them, but he never could make up
his mind to. On this occasion the sermon was a particularly long one.

And behold, during the sermon a lady drove up to the church in an old
fashioned hired droshky, that is, one in which the lady could only sit
sideways, holding on to the driver's sash, shaking at every jolt like a
blade of grass in the breeze. Such droshkys are still to be seen in our
town. Stopping at the corner of the cathedral--for there were a number
of carriages, and mounted police too, at the gates--the lady sprang out
of the droshky and handed the driver four kopecks in silver.

"Isn't it enough, Vanya?" she cried, seeing his grimace. "It's all I've
got," she added plaintively.

"Well, there, bless you. I took you without fixing the price," said the
driver with a hopeless gesture, and looking at her he added as though
reflecting:

"And it would be a sin to take advantage of you too."

Then, thrusting his leather purse into his bosom, he touched up his
horse and drove off, followed by the jeers of the drivers standing near.
Jeers, and wonder too, followed the lady as she made her way to the
cathedral gates, between the carriages and the footmen waiting for
their masters to come out. And indeed, there certainly was something
extraordinary and surprising to every one in such a person's suddenly
appearing in the street among people. She was painfully thin and she
limped, she was heavily powdered and rouged; her long neck was quite
bare, she had neither kerchief nor pelisse; she had nothing on but an
old dark dress in spite of the cold and windy, though bright, September
day. She was bareheaded, and her hair was twisted up into a tiny knot,
and on the right side of it was stuck an artificial rose, such as are
used to dedicate cherubs sold in Palm week. I had noticed just such a
one with a wreath of paper roses in a corner under the ikons when I was
at Marya Timofyevna's the day before.