The Postmaster did not pursue him. He had resolved to return home to his post-house; but before doing so he wished to see his poor Dunia once more. With this view, a couple of days afterwards he returned to Minsky's lodgings. But the military servant told him roughly that his master received nobody, pushed him out of the antechamber, and slammed the door in his face. The Postmaster stood and stood, and at last went away.
That same day, in the evening, he was walking along the Leteinaia, having been to service at the Church of the All Saints, when a smart drojki flew past him, and in it the Postmaster recognised Minsky. The drojki stopped in front of a three-storeyed house at the very entrance, and the hussar ran up the steps. A happy thought occurred to the Postmaster. He retraced his steps.
"Whose horses are these?" he inquired of the coachman. "Don't they belong to Minsky?"
"Exactly so," replied the coachman. "Why do you ask?"
"Why! your master told me to deliver a note for him to his Dunia, and I have forgotten where his Dunia lives."
"She lives here on the second floor; but you are too late, my friend, with your note; he is there himself now."
"No matter," answered the Postmaster, who had an undefinable sensation at his heart. "Thanks for your information; I shall be able to manage my business." With these words he ascended the steps.
The door was locked; he rang. There were several seconds of painful delay. Then the key jingled, and the door opened.
"Does Avdotia Simeonovna live here?" he inquired.