Early that morning, soon after sunrise, Ivanoff and Sanine walked forth
from the town. The dew sparkled in the sunlight, and the damp grass
seen in shadow appeared grey. Along the side of the road flanked by
gnarled willows, pilgrims were slowly wending their way to the
monastery. The red and white kerchiefs covering their heads and their
bright-hued coats and shirts gave colour and picturesqueness to the
scene. The monastery bells rang out in the cool morning air, and the
sound floated across the steppe, away to the dreaming woods in the dim
blue distance. A troika came jingling along the highroad, and the
rough voices of the pilgrims as they talked could be distinctly heard.

"We've come out a little too early," said Ivanoff.

Sanine looked round about him, contented and happy.

"Well, let us wait a while," he replied.

They sat down on the sand, close to the hedge, and lit their
cigarettes.

Peasants walking along behind their carts turned to look at them, and
market-women and girls as they rattled past in rickety traps pointed at
the wayfarers amid bursts of merry, mocking laughter. Ivanoff took not
the slightest notice of them, but Sanine smiled and nodded in response.

At last there appeared on the steps of a little white house with a
bright green roof the proprietor of the "Crown" tavern, a tall man in
his shirt-sleeves who noisily unlocked the door, while yawning
incessantly. A woman wearing a red kerchief on her head slipped in
after him.