candle upside down. It went out with a crackling sound.
The almost full moon burst through the windows that looked out upon the forest. The long, white figure of the fool was, on the one side, illuminated by the pale, silvery beams of the moon, and, on the other, it fell as a black shadow, together with the shadows from the frames, upon the floor and the walls, and reached up to the ceiling. In the yard the watchman was beating his brass plate.
Crossing his enormous hands on his breast, dropping his head, and continually drawing deep breaths, Grísha stood silently before the images, then with difficulty let himself down on his knees and began to pray.
At first he softly said familiar prayers, accentuating certain words, then he repeated them, but louder and with more animation, He began to use his own words, with perceptible effort trying to express himself in Church-Slavic. His words were incorrect, but touching. He prayed for all his benefactors (thus he called all who received him), among them for any mother, and for us; he prayed for himself, and asked the Lord to forgive him his heavy sins, and repeated, "O Lord, forgive mine enemies!" He arose with groans, still repeating the same words, prostrated himself upon the ground, and again arose, in spite of the weight of the chains that emitted a grating, penetrating sound as they struck the ground.
Volódya pinched my leg very painfully, but I did not even turn round. I only rubbed the place with my hand and continued, with a feeling of childish wonder, pity, and awe, to follow all the movements and words of Grísha.
Instead of merriment and laughter, which I had expected upon entering the lumber-room, I now experienced a chill and anguish of soul.
Grísha was for a long time in that attitude of religious
