Yefim, a priest of much more than average intelligence and seriousness, used often to visit him, and to tell him Scripture narratives, and repeat for him prayers or passages from the Psalter. "I can no longer raise my eyes to the holy pictures," Petrovitch was wont to say, "so I must learn to lift up my heart to God."
To-day Ivan found him surrounded by several members of his family. His eldest son stood before him; two or three others, sons or grandsons, were at hand; and Feodor, now a fine lad of sixteen, had perched himself as usual upon one of the arms of his chair.
"Father, your will is law," Ivan Petrovitch was saying. "Still it is rather hard upon me to be chained to desk and ledger because I am the eldest son, while sons, nephews, and grandsons are doing their duty."
"Thou too wilt be doing thine," the old man returned. "What if it be a harder one? Is it thy part, or mine, to choose?—But hush! are not the footsteps that I hear those of my lord's grandson?"
Ivan came forward, and the usual greetings were exchanged, though on his side in a tone of embarrassment, which did not escape the quick ear of Petrovitch.
"Prince Ivan," he said, "you are in trouble. Do you wish to speak with me alone?"
Petrovitch usually gave Ivan the title of prince, although, on account of his father's disgrace and his own equivocal position, the heir of Pojarsky had forborne to assume it in general society—a modest reticence which Petrovitch not only approved, but had himself actually recommended.
"It is true, dädushka," Ivan answered frankly; "I wish to speak with you alone."
At a sign from Petrovitch the others left the room, and without waiting for Ivan to begin, the old man said, "I know what you feel. Speak freely. What can I do for you?"
