As I drove home from Orlóv’s house, I passed the office of General Tsinski, chief of the police; and it occurred to me to make a direct application to him for leave to see Ogaryóv.
Never in my life had I paid a visit to any person connected with the police. I had to wait a long time; but at last the Chief Commissioner appeared. My request surprised him.
“What reason have you for asking this permission?”
“Ogaryóv and I are cousins.”
“Cousins?” he asked, looking me straight in the face.
I said nothing, but returned His Excellency’s look exactly.
“I can’t give you leave,” he said; “your kinsman is in solitary confinement. I am very sorry.”
My ignorance and helplessness were torture to me. Hardly any of my intimate friends were in Moscow; it was quite impossible to find out anything. The police seemed to have forgotten me or to ignore me. I was utterly weary and wretched. But when all the sky was covered with gloomy clouds and the long night of exile and prison was coming close, just then a radiant sunbeam fell upon me.
§9
A few words of deep sympathy, spoken by a girl[[68]] of sixteen, whom I regarded as a child, put new life in me.