They were just dining. Rybin was
the first to notice the women. Shading his eyes with his hand, he
waited in silence.
"How do you do, brother Mikhail?" shouted the mother from afar.
He arose and leisurely walked to meet them. When he recognized
the mother, he stopped and smiled and stroked his beard with his
black hand.
"We are on a pilgrimage," said the mother, approaching him. "And so
I thought I would stop in and see my brother. This is my friend Anna."
Proud of her resourcefulness she looked askance at Sofya's serious,
stern face.
"How are you?" said Rybin, smiling grimly. He shook her hand,
bowed to Sofya, and continued: "Don't lie. This isn't the city.
No need of lies. These are all our own people, good people."
Yefim, sitting at the table, looked sharply at the pilgrims, and
whispered something to his comrades. When the women walked up to
the table, he arose and silently bowed to them. His comrades didn't
stir, seeming to take no notice of the guests.
"We live here like monks," said Rybin, tapping the mother lightly
on the shoulder. "No one comes to us; our master is not in the
village; the mistress was taken to the hospital.
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