She could hardly do so, not having seen him for almost twenty years.
'Don't think ill of me, Father.
Perhaps you want something to eat?'
He took the bread and the money, and Praskovya Mikhaylovna was surprised that he did not go, but stood looking at her.
'Pashenka, I have come to you!
Take me in...'
His beautiful black eyes, shining with the tears that started in them, were fixed on her with imploring insistence.
And under his greyish moustache his lips quivered piteously.
Praskovya Mikhaylovna pressed her hands to her withered breast, opened her mouth, and stood petrified, staring at the pilgrim with dilated eyes.
'It can't be!
Stepa!
Sergey!
Father Sergius!'
'Yes, it is I,' said Sergius in a low voice.
'Only not Sergius, or Father Sergius, but a great sinner, Stepan Kasatsky—a great and lost sinner.
Take me in and help me!'
'It's impossible! How have you so humbled yourself?
But come in.'
She reached out her hand, but he did not take it and only followed her in.
But where was she to take him?
The lodging was a small one.
Formerly she had had a tiny room, almost a closet, for herself, but later she had given it up to her daughter, and Masha was now sitting there rocking the baby.
'Sit here for the present,' she said to Sergius, pointing to a bench in the kitchen.
He sat down at once, and with an evidently accustomed movement slipped the straps of his wallet first off one shoulder and then off the other.
'My God, my God! How you have humbled yourself, Father!
Such great fame, and now like this...'
Sergius did not reply, but only smiled meekly, placing his wallet under the bench on which he sat.
'Masha, do you know who this is?'—And in a whisper Praskovya Mikhaylovna told her daughter who he was, and together they then carried the bed and the cradle out of the tiny room and cleared it for Sergius.
Praskovya Mikhaylovna led him into it.
'Here you can rest.
Don't take offence... but I must go out.'
'Where to?'
'I have to go to a lesson. I am ashamed to tell you, but I teach music!'
'Music? But that is good.
Only just one thing, Praskovya Mikhaylovna, I have come to you with a definite object.
When can I have a talk with you?'
'I shall be very glad.
Will this evening do?'
'Yes. But one thing more. Don't speak about me, or say who I am.
I have revealed myself only to you.
No one knows where I have gone to.
It must be so.'
'Oh, but I have told my daughter.'
'Well, ask her not to mention it.'
And Sergius took off his boots, lay down, and at once fell asleep after a sleepless night and a walk of nearly thirty miles.
When Praskovya Mikhaylovna returned, Sergius was sitting in the little room waiting for her.
He did not come out for dinner, but had some soup and gruel which Lukerya brought him.
'How is it that you have come back earlier than you said?' asked Sergius.
'Can I speak to you now?'
'How is it that I have the happiness to receive such a guest?