drink tea.

The bishop slowly, languidly, recalled the seminary, the academy.
For three years he had been Greek teacher in the seminary: by that
time he could not read without spectacles. Then he had become a
monk; he had been made a school inspector. Then he had defended his
thesis for his degree. When he was thirty-two he had been made
rector of the seminary, and consecrated archimandrite: and then his
life had been so easy, so pleasant; it seemed so long, so long, no
end was in sight. Then he had begun to be ill, had grown very thin
and almost blind, and by the advice of the doctors had to give up
everything and go abroad.

"And what then?" asked Sisoy in the next room.

"Then we drank tea . . ." answered Marya Timofyevna.

"Good gracious, you've got a green beard," said Katya suddenly in
surprise, and she laughed.

The bishop remembered that the grey-headed Father Sisoy's beard
really had a shade of green in it, and he laughed.

"God have mercy upon us, what we have to put up with with this
girl!" said Sisoy, aloud, getting angry. "Spoilt child! Sit quiet!"

The bishop remembered the perfectly new white church in which he
had conducted the services while living abroad, he remembered the
sound of the warm sea. In his flat he had five lofty light rooms;
in his study he had a new writing-table, lots of books. He had read