He is employed in the steward's office of a neighboring estate -- your mother gave him a permit -- and all goes well with him, thank God!"

"And so you're always lying here without moving?" I asked.

"This is the seventh year, Barin, I've been lying here. During the summer I remain in this hut. When it turns cold, I am removed to the outer room of the bath-house."

"And who looks after you?"

"There are kind folks here as well as elsewhere. I am not deserted, and I don't want much looking after. As for victuals -- why, I scarcely eat anything; and for drink -- there is water in that pitcher. It always stands there, with plenty of fresh spring-water. I can get at it without help. One of my arms is still serviceable, and, besides, there is a young girl, an orphan, who comes to see after me, God bless her! She was here just now. Didn't you meet her? A fair-haired girl, and so pretty! She brings me flowers. I am so fond of flowers. I haven't any garden ones; I had some once, but they're all gone. But see how charming the wild flowers are; and they smell even sweeter than the garden ones. See, here are some lilies of the valley--what can be prettier?"

"And you don't find the life you lead wearisome or painful, my poor Loukeria?"

"What can one do? I won't say what isn't true. At first it was very dreary. But after I got accustomed to it and learned to be patient, it seemed a mere nothing. There are others still worse off."

"How so?"

"There are some who are homeless, there are others who are blind or deaf. But I, thank God! see quite well and hear everything, everything. If a mole burrows underground I can hear it, and I can enjoy every scent, however faint it may be. When the buckwheat is in flower in the fields, or the lime-trees in the garden, there is no need to tell me of it. I am the first to know it, as long as the wind blows the right way. No, why should I anger God? There are many who are worse off than I am. For instance, when one is well, one may easily fall into sin. But from me, all sin has, as it were, passed aside. Father Alexis, our priest, was going to give me the sacrament the other day, and he said: 'You need not confess. What sin can you possibly commit in the state you're in?' 'But,' I replied: 'How about mental sins, Father?' 'Come,' says he, and smiled withal, 'those can be no great sins.'"

"Though, I dare say I've not done much even in the way of those same mental sins," continued Loukeria, "because I've accustomed myself not to think, not even to remember. Time goes faster that way."

I must own I felt astonished.

"You are always alone, Loukeria. How can you prevent ideas from coming into your mind? Surely, you cannot always be sleeping?"

"Oh, no, Barin! Though I am free from any acute suffering, yet, I have a pain just here, and in the bones, too, which does not let me sleep properly. No -- here I lie and lie, and think of nothing.