Autumnal Petersburg is shrouded in fog. A young artist stands on the embankment, admiring the city, when he suddenly notices a twelve-year-old boy huddled in the corner of a granite ledge, in rags, with wary black eyes. He hands him a coin. The boy takes it without thanking him. "Little wolf!" the gentleman smirks. But then the boy suddenly turns around: "Take me with you." Why would a well-fed, idle artist need a stranger's embittered boy who doesn't say "thank you" and fears no one?