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was overtaken with such intense curiosity that she prompt-
ly despatched Rakitin to the hermitage, to keep a careful
look out and report to her by letter ever half hour or so ‘ev-
erything that takes place.’ She regarded Rakitin as a most
religious and devout young man. He was particularly clev-
er in getting round people and assuming whatever part he
thought most to their taste, if he detected the slightest ad-
vantage to himself from doing so.
It was a bright, clear day, and many of the visitors were
thronging about the tombs, which were particularly numer-
ous round the church and scattered here and there about
the hermitage. As he walked round the hermitage, Father
Paissy remembered Alyosha and that he had not seen him
for some time, not since the night. And he had no sooner
thought of him than he at once noticed him in the farthest
corner of the hermitage garden, sitting on the tombstone
of a monk who had been famous long ago for his saintli-
ness. He sat with his back to the hermitage and his face to
the wall, and seemed to be hiding behind the tombstone.
Going up to him, Father Paissy saw that he was weeping
quietly but bitterly, with his face hidden in his hands, and
that his whole frame was shaking with sobs. Father Paissy
stood over him for a little.
‘Enough, dear son, enough, dear,’ he pronounced with
feeling at last. ‘Why do you weep? Rejoice and weep not.
Don’t you know that this is the greatest of his days? Think
only where he is now, at this moment!’
Alyosha glanced at him, uncovering his face, which was
swollen with crying like a child’s, but turned away at once