In the narrow and untidy passage of the lodge, which I entered with an
involuntary tremor in all my limbs, I was met by an old grey-headed
servant with a dark copper-coloured face, surly little pig’s eyes, and
such deep furrows on his forehead and temples as I had never beheld in
my life. He was carrying a plate containing the spine of a herring that
had been gnawed at; and shutting the door that led into the room with
his foot, he jerked out, “What do you want?”
“Is the Princess Zasyekin at home?” I inquired.
“Vonifaty!” a jarring female voice screamed from within.
The man without a word turned his back on me, exhibiting as he did so
the extremely threadbare hindpart of his livery with a solitary reddish
heraldic button on it; he put the plate down on the floor, and went
away.
“Did you go to the police station?” the same female voice called again.
The man muttered something in reply. “Eh…. Has some one come?” I heard
again…. “The young gentleman from next door. Ask him in, then.”
“Will you step into the drawing-room?” said the servant, making his
appearance once more, and picking up the plate from the floor. I
mastered my emotions, and went into the drawing-room.
I found myself in a small and not over clean apartment, containing some
poor furniture that looked as if it had been hurriedly set down where
it stood. At the window in an easy-chair with a broken arm was sitting
a woman of fifty, bareheaded and ugly, in an old green dress, and a
striped worsted wrap about her neck. Her small black eyes fixed me like
pins.