h a hundred thousand.

All were waiting for their chance, not daring to speak of themselves.
Four were on their knees, but the one who attracted most attention
was the landowner, a stout man of forty-five, kneeling right at the
partition, more conspicuous than any one, waiting reverently for a
propitious word or look from Semyon Yakovlevitch. He had been there for
about an hour already, but the saint still did not notice him.

Our ladies crowded right up to the partition, whispering gaily and
laughingly together. They pushed aside or got in front of all the other
visitors, even those on their knees, except the landowner, who remained
obstinately in his prominent position even holding on to the
partition. Merry and greedily inquisitive eyes were turned upon Semyon
Yakovlevitch, as well as lorgnettes, pince-nez, and even opera-glasses.
Lyamshin, at any rate, looked through an opera-glass. Semyon
Yakovlevitch calmly and lazily scanned all with his little eyes.

"Milovzors! Milovzors!" he deigned to pronounce, in a hoarse bass, and
slightly staccato.

All our party laughed: "What's the meaning of 'Milovzors'?" But Semyon
Yakovlevitch relapsed into silence, and finished his potatoes. Presently
he wiped his lips with his napkin, and they handed him tea.

As a rule, he did not take tea alone, but poured out some for his
visitors, but by no means for all, usually pointing himself to those
he wished to honour. And his choice always surprised people by its
unexpectedness. Passing by the wealthy and the high-placed, he sometimes
pitched upon a peasant or some decrepit old woman. Another time he
would pass over the beggars to honour some fat wealthy merchant. Tea was
served differently, too, to different people, sugar was put into some of
the glasses and handed separately with others, while some got it without
any sugar at all. This time the favoured one was the monk sitting by
him, who had sugar put in; and the old pilgrim, to whom it was given
without any sugar. The fat monk with the jug, from the monastery, for
some reason had none handed to him at all, though up till then he had
had his glass every day.

"Semyon Yakovlevitch, do say something to me. I've been longing to make
your acquaintance for ever so long," carolled the gorgeously dressed
lady from our carriage, screwing up her eyes and smiling. She was
the lady who had observed that one must not be squeamish about one's
amusements, so long as they were interesting. S