Book 3 Chapter 21 Just a Worthless Tramp

Nekhludoff stood on the edge of the raft looking at the broad
river. Two pictures kept rising up in his mind. One, that of
Kryltzoff, unprepared for death and dying, made a heavy,
sorrowful impression on him. The other, that of Katusha, full of
energy, having gained the love of such a man as Simonson, and
found a true and solid path towards righteousness, should have
been pleasant, yet it also created a heavy impression on
Nekhludoff's mind, and he could not conquer this impression.

The vibrating sounds of a big brass bell reached them from the
town. Nekhludoff's driver, who stood by his side, and the other
men on the raft raised their caps and crossed themselves, all
except a short, dishevelled old man, who stood close to the
railway and whom Nekhludoff had not noticed before. He did not
cross himself, but raised his head and looked at Nekhludoff. This
old man wore a patched coat, cloth trousers and worn and patched
shoes. He had a small wallet on his back, and a high fur cap with
the fur much rubbed on his head.

"Why don't you pray, old chap?" asked Nekhludoff's driver as he
replaced and straightened his cap. "Are you unbaptized?"

"Who's one to pray to?" asked the old man quickly, in a
determinately aggressive tone.

"To whom? To God, of course," said the driver sarcastically.

"And you just show me where he is, that god." There was something
so serious and firm in the expression of the old man, that the
driver felt that he had to do with a strong-minded man, and was a
bit abashed. And trying not to show this, not to be silenced, and
not to be put to shame before the crowd that was observing them,
he answered quickly.