“But who can it be at such a late hour?” said one woman to another.
“Who else can it be but Piotr Ivanitch!”
“That’s so; he likes coming late.”
“Do you remember—once at the Taranovs?”
Piotr Ivanitch, approaching at that moment, overheard the remark.
“You are unfair to me, Marya Ivanovna! I’ve been here a long time,” said he.
“Forgive me, but who, then, can it be?” said Marya Ivanovna in confusion.
“We’ll soon know. Let’s take a look.”
The inquisitive engineer put his head out into the hall and stumbled upon some one in a grey uniform who was walking impetuously towards the drawing-room. Some one whispered in suppressed horror:
“The police!”