Missail.  Well said, Father Varlaam.

Gregory. (To Hostess.) Whom do they want?  Who
escaped from Moscow?

Hostess.  God knows; a thief perhaps, a robber.  But here even good folk are worried now.  And what will come of it?  Nothing.  They will not catch the old devil; as if there were no other road into Lithuania than the highway!  Just turn to the left from here, then by the pinewood or by the footpath as far as the chapel on the Chekansky brook, and then straight across the marsh to Khlopin, and thence to Zakhariev, and then any child will guide you to the Luyov mountains.  The only good of these inspectors is to worry passers-by and rob us poor folk. (A noise is heard.) What’s that?  Ah, there they are, curse them!  They are going their rounds.

Gregory.  Hostess!  Is there another room in the cottage?

Hostess.  No, my dear; I should be glad myself to hide.  But they are only pretending to go their rounds; but give them wine and bread, and Heaven knows what—­ May perdition take them, the accursed ones!  May—­

(Enter officers.)

Officers.  Good health to you, mine hostess!

Hostess.  You are kindly welcome, dear guests.

An officer. (To another.) Ha, there’s drinking going on here; we shall get something here. (To the Monks.) Who are you?

Varlaam.  We—­are two old clerics, humble monks; we are going from village to village, and collecting Christian alms for the monastery.

Officer. (To Gregory.) And thou?

Missail.  Our comrade.

Gregory.  A layman from the suburb; I have conducted the old men as far as the frontier; from here I am going to my own home.

Missail.  So you have changed your mind?

Gregory. (Sotto voce.) Be silent.

Officer.  Hostess, bring some more wine, and we will drink here a little and talk a little with these old men.

2Nd officer. (Sotto voce.) Yon lad, it appears, is poor; there’s nothing to be got out of him; on the other hand the old men—­

1St officer.  Be silent; we shall come to them presently.  —­Well, my fathers, how are you getting on?

Varlaam.  Badly, my sons, badly!  The Christians have now turned stingy; they love their money; they hide their money.  They give little to God.  The people of the world have become great sinners.  They have all devoted themselves to commerce, to earthly cares; they think of worldly wealth, not of the salvation of the soul.  You walk and walk; you beg and beg; sometimes in three days begging will not bring you three half-pence.  What a sin!  A week goes by; another week; you look into your bag, and there is so little in it that you are ashamed to show yourself at the monastery.  What are you to do?  From very sorrow you drink away what is left; a real calamity!  Ah, it is bad!  It seems our last days have come—­