“Our Lord Jesus Christ!  Holy Mother of God!  Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!” he kept repeating, with the different intonations and abbreviations which gradually become peculiar to persons who are accustomed to pronounce the words with great frequency.

Still praying, he placed his staff in a corner and looked at the bed; after which he began to undress.  Unfastening his old black girdle, he slowly divested himself of his torn nankeen kaftan, and deposited it carefully on the back of a chair.  His face had now lost its usual disquietude and idiocy.  On the contrary, it had in it something restful, thoughtful, and even grand, while all his movements were deliberate and intelligent.

Next, he lay down quietly in his shirt on the bed, made the sign of the cross towards every side of him, and adjusted his chains beneath his shirt—­an operation which, as we could see from his face, occasioned him considerable pain.  Then he sat up again, looked gravely at his ragged shirt, and rising and taking the candle, lifted the latter towards the shrine where the images of the saints stood.  That done, he made the sign of the cross again, and turned the candle upside down, when it went out with a hissing noise.

Through the window (which overlooked the wood) the moon (nearly full) was shining in such a way that one side of the tall white figure of the idiot stood out in the pale, silvery moonlight, while the other side was lost in the dark shadow which covered the floor, walls, and ceiling.  In the courtyard the watchman was tapping at intervals upon his brass alarm plate.  For a while Grisha stood silently before the images and, with his large hands pressed to his breast and his head bent forward, gave occasional sighs.  Then with difficulty he knelt down and began to pray.

At first he repeated some well-known prayers, and only accented a word here and there.  Next, he repeated thee same prayers, but louder and with increased accentuation.  Lastly he repeated them again and with even greater emphasis, as well as with an evident effort to pronounce them in the old Slavonic Church dialect.  Though disconnected, his prayers were very touching.  He prayed for all his benefactors (so he called every one who had received him hospitably), with, among them, Mamma and ourselves.  Next he prayed for himself, and besought God to forgive him his sins, at the same time repeating, “God forgive also my enemies!” Then, moaning with the effort, he rose from his knees—­only to fall to the floor again and repeat his phrases afresh.  At last he regained his feet, despite the weight of the chains, which rattled loudly whenever they struck the floor.

Woloda pinched me rudely in the leg, but I took no notice of that (except that I involuntarily touched the place with my hand), as I observed with a feeling of childish astonishment, pity, and respect the words and gestures of Grisha.  Instead of the laughter and amusement which I had expected on entering the store-room, I felt my heart beating and overcome.