In the winter they used to put a sheepskin in for her, and every day a piece of bread and a jug of water.

The pilgrims gaze at her, sigh and exclaim, and make offerings of money.

'A treasure you've pitched on,' answered the Mother Superior--( she was angry, she disliked Lizaveta dreadfully)--'Lizaveta only sits there out of spite, out of pure obstinacy, it is nothing but hypocrisy.' I didn't like this; I was thinking at the time of shutting myself up too.

'I think,' said I, 'that God and nature are just the same thing.' They all cried out with one voice at me, 'Well, now!' The Mother Superior laughed, whispered something to the lady and called me up, petted me, and the lady gave me a pink ribbon.

Would you like me to show it to you?
And the monk began to admonish me.