age, and she laughingly introduced me to her
companions, gorgeously attired ladies, and explained to me that they
were all going on a very interesting expedition. She was laughing, and
seemed somewhat excessively happy. Just lately she had been very lively,
even playful, in fact.

The expedition was certainly an eccentric one. They were all going to a
house the other side of the river, to the merchant Sevastyanov's. In
the lodge of this merchant's house our saint and prophet, Semyon
Yakovlevitch, who was famous not only amongst us but in the surrounding
provinces and even in Petersburg and Moscow, had been living for the
last ten years, in retirement, ease, and comfort. Every one went to see
him, especially visitors to the neighbourhood, extracting from him some
crazy utterance, bowing down to him, and leaving an offering. These
offerings were sometimes considerable, and if Semyon Yakovlevitch did
not himself assign them to some other purpose were piously sent to
some church or more often to the monastery of Our Lady. A monk from
the monastery was always in waiting upon Semyon Yakovlevitch with this
object.

All were in expectation of great amusement. No one of the party had seen
Semyon Yakovlevitch before, except Lyamshin, who declared that the saint
had given orders that he should be driven out with a broom, and had with
his own hand flung two big baked potatoes after him. Among the party I
noticed Pyotr Stepanovitch, again riding a hired Cossack horse, on which
he sat extremely badly, and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, also on horseback.
The latter did not always hold aloof from social diversions, and on such
occasions always wore an air of gaiety, although, as always, he spoke
little and seldom. When our party had crossed the bridge and reached the
hotel of the town, some one suddenly announced that in one of the rooms
of the hotel they had just found a traveller who had shot himself, and
were expecting the police. At once the suggestion was made that they
should go and look at the suicide. The idea met with approval: our
ladies had never seen a suicide. I remember one of them said aloud on
the occasion, "Everything's so boring, one can't be squeamish over one's
amusements, as long as they're interesting." Only a few of them remained
outside. The others went in a body into the dirty corridor, and amongst
the others I saw, to my amazement, Lizaveta Nikolaevna. The door of the
room was open, and they did not, of course, da