he controlled himself and restrained his laughter. He
recovered himself only on the bridge, on the spot where Fedka had met
him that evening. He found the man lying in wait for him again. Seeing
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch he took off his cap, grinned gaily, and
began babbling briskly and merrily about something. At first Nikolay
Vsyevolodovitch walked on without stopping, and for some time did not
even listen to the tramp who was pestering him again. He was suddenly
struck by the thought that he had entirely forgotten him, and had
forgotten him at the very moment when he himself was repeating, "A
knife, a knife." He seized the tramp by the collar and gave vent to
his pent-up rage by flinging him violently against the bridge. For one
instant the man thought of fighting, but almost at once realising that
compared with his adversary, who had fallen upon him unawares, he was
no better than a wisp of straw, he subsided and was silent, without
offering any resistance. Crouching on the ground with his elbows crooked
behind his back, the wily tramp calmly waited for what would happen
next, apparently quite incredulous of danger. He was right in his
reckoning. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had already with his left hand taken
off his thick scarf to tie his prisoner's arms, but suddenly, for some
reason, he abandoned him, and shoved him away. The man instantly sprang
on to his feet, turned round, and a short, broad boot-knife suddenly
gleamed in his hand.

"Away with that knife; put it away, at once!" Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch
commanded with an impatient gesture, and the knife vanished as
instantaneously as it had appeared.

Without speaking again or turning round, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went on
his way. But the persistent vagabond did not leave him even now, though
now, it is true, he did not chatter, and even respectfully kept his
distance, a full step behind.

They crossed the bridge like this and came out on to the river bank,
turning this time to the left, again into a long deserted back street,
which led to the centre of the town by a shorter way than going through
Bogoyavlensky Street.

"Is it true, as they say, that you robbed a church in the district the
other day?" Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked suddenly.

"I went in to say my prayers in the first place," the tramp answered,
sedately and respectfully as though nothing had happened; more than
sedately, in fact, almost with dignity. There was no trace of his
former "friendly"