There was perfect stillness in the church.  Nothing could be heard but the metallic click of the censer and slow singing....  Near Andrey Andreyitch stood the verger Matvey, the midwife Makaryevna, and her one-armed son Mitka.  There was no one else.  The sacristan sang badly in an unpleasant, hollow bass, but the tune and the words were so mournful that the shopkeeper little by little lost the expression of dignity and was plunged in sadness.  He thought of his Mashutka,... he remembered she had been born when he was still a lackey in the service of the owner of Verhny Zaprudy.  In his busy life as a lackey he had not noticed how his girl had grown up.  That long period during which she was being shaped into a graceful creature, with a little flaxen head and dreamy eyes as big as kopeck-pieces passed unnoticed by him.  She had been brought up like all the children of favorite lackeys, in ease and comfort in the company of the young ladies.  The gentry, to fill up their idle time, had taught her to read, to write, to dance; he had had no hand in her bringing up.  Only from time to time casually meeting her at the gate or on the landing of the stairs, he would remember that she was his daughter, and would, so far as he had leisure for it, begin teaching her the prayers and the scripture.  Oh, even then he had the reputation of an authority on the church rules and the holy scriptures!  Forbidding and stolid as her father’s face was, yet the girl listened readily.  She repeated the prayers after him yawning, but on the other hand, when he, hesitating and trying to express himself elaborately, began telling her stories, she was all attention.  Esau’s pottage, the punishment of Sodom, and the troubles of the boy Joseph made her turn pale and open her blue eyes wide.

Afterwards when he gave up being a lackey, and with the money he had saved opened a shop in the village, Mashutka had gone away to Moscow with his master’s family....

Three years before her death she had come to see her father.  He had scarcely recognized her.  She was a graceful young woman with the manners of a young lady, and dressed like one.  She talked cleverly, as though from a book, smoked, and slept till midday.  When Andrey Andreyitch asked her what she was doing, she had announced, looking him boldly straight in the face:  “I am an actress.”  Such frankness struck the former flunkey as the acme of cynicism.  Mashutka had begun boasting of her successes and her stage life; but seeing that her father only turned crimson and threw up his hands, she ceased.  And they spent a fortnight together without speaking or looking at one another till the day she went away.  Before she went away she asked her father to come for a walk on the bank of the river.  Painful as it was for him to walk in the light of day, in the sight of all honest people, with a daughter who was an actress, he yielded to her request.

“What a lovely place you live in!” she said enthusiastically.  “What ravines and marshes!  Good heavens, how lovely my native place is!”