With this thought he reached St. Petersburg, stopped at the barracks of the Ismailovsky Regiment, in the quarters of a retired non-commissioned officer, an old comrade of his, and then began his search. He soon discovered that Captain Minsky was in St. Petersburg, and was living at the Demoutoff Hotel. The Postmaster resolved to call upon him.
Early in the morning he went to Minsky’s ante-chamber, and requested that His Excellency might be informed that an old soldier wished to see him. The military servant, who was cleaning a boot on a boot-tree, informed him that his master was still asleep, and that he never received anybody before eleven o’clock. The Postmaster retired and returned at the appointed time. Minsky himself came out to him in his dressing-gown and red skull-cap.
“Well, my friend, what do you want?” he asked.
The old man’s heart began to boil, tears started to his eyes, and he was only able to say in a trembling voice:
“Your Excellency!... do me the divine favour!...”
Minsky glanced quickly at him, grew confused, took him by the hand, led him into his cabinet and locked the door.
“Your Excellency!” continued the old man: “what has fallen from the load is lost; give me back at least my poor Dounia. You have made her your plaything; do not ruin her entirely.”
“What is done cannot be undone,” said the young man, in the utmost confusion; “I am guilty before you, and am ready to ask your pardon, but do not think that I could forsake Dounia: she shall be happy, I give you my word of honour. Why do you want her? She loves me; she has become disused to her former existence. Neither you nor she will forget what has happened.”
Then, pushing something up the old man’s sleeve, he opened the door, and the Postmaster, without remembering how, found himself in the street again.
For a long time he stood immovable; at last he observed in the cuff of his sleeve a roll of papers; he drew them out and unrolled several fifty rouble notes. Tears again filled his eyes, tears of indignation! He crushed the notes into a ball, flung them upon the ground, stamped upon them with the heel of his boot, and then walked away.... After having gone a few steps, he stopped, reflected, and returned ... but the notes were no longer there. A well-dressed young man, observing him, ran towards a droshky, jumped in hurriedly, and cried to the driver: “Go on!”