Ordynov returned, and the dvornik touched his cap politely.
“Well?” inquired the young man.
“If you go,” said the dvornik, “then I must go to the proprietor.”
“Well? And what then?”
“Only that you had better not go.”
“Idiot!” cried Ordynov as for the second time he turned away.
“Sir, sir! Wait a moment!”
Again the dvornik touched his cap as he showed his teeth in a grin.
“Listen to me, sir. Do not be over-hasty. Why trouble the police, poor men? It would not be right to do so, God knows!”
“Well, listen to me. Take that, and tell me what is the matter with that gentleman.”
“What is the matter with him?”
“Yes.”
“I would have told you that without being paid for it.”
The dvornik resumed his besom, swept a few strokes, and looked at Ordynov with a fixed and solemn air.
“You are a nice young gentleman,” he went on, “but not the sort to have dealings with a fine gentleman like him. Mind your own business; that’s my advice,” and the Tartar communicated to his expression an earnest—almost an angry—look as he resumed his work. Finally, he approached Ordynov with a bearing full of mystery, and, accompanying his words with a very expressive gesture, said: “He’s like that.”
“Like what?”
“His head is all gone wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“That his head leaves him sometimes,” repeated the dvornik with even greater empressement than before. “Yes, it leaves him, and he falls ill. You see, once upon a time he used to have a large ship—several ships, indeed—and to sail them on the Volga (I also am of the Volga country). And he used to run a factory besides, and it was burnt down, and—well, there you are! His head has turned with it all.”
“You mean, he is mad?”
“No, no!” (here the dvornik struck an attitude). “He is not mad. On the contrary, he is very much himself. He knows everything, and has read everything—yes, everything in the world. He can foretell the future, and if any one comes to him, it costs the visitor two roubles, or three roubles, or four roubles, as the case may be, and Hospodin4 Murin looks into a book, and turns its pages, and tells his customer the whole truth. But first of all there must be money on the table—yes, money on the table; nothing can be done without money.” And the Tartar, who seemed to take a great interest in Murin’s affairs, laughed in an appreciative manner.
“So he is a fortune-teller? He gives advice?”
“Yes,” grunted the dvornik, with a quick nod of assent. “He foretells things just as they will be, and prays to God—yes, he prays a great deal; and then a fit comes upon him,” the Tartar here repeated his expressive gesture, “and——”
At this point some one shouted to the dvornik from across the yard, and presently there came into view a little grey-headed hunchback who, clad in a peasant’s smock, and with his eyes cast down, kept coughing, stumbling, and muttering prayers as he walked. He looked like a man who had been dropped in infancy.