§1
“WE shall meet to-morrow,” I repeated to myself as I was falling asleep, and my heart felt unusually light and happy.
At two in the morning I was wakened by my father’s valet; he was only half-dressed and looked frightened.
“An officer is asking for you.”
“What officer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do,” I said, as I threw on my dressing-gown. A figure wrapped in a military cloak was standing at the drawing-room door; I could see a white plume from my window, and there were some people behind it—I could make out a Cossack helmet.
Our visitor was Miller, an officer of police. He told me that he bore a warrant from the military Governor of Moscow to examine my papers. Candles were brought. Miller took my keys, and while his subordinates rummaged among my books and shirts, attended to the papers himself. He put them all aside as suspicious; then he turned suddenly to me and said:
“I beg you will dress meanwhile; you will have to go with me.”
“Where to?” I asked.