Peredonov's countenance became arrogant. In his poor imagination he had already received his share of power.
When Peredonov returned home, while he was taking off his overcoat, he heard shrill sounds from the dining-room—it was Volodin laughing. Peredonov's spirits fell.
"He's managed to get here already," he thought. "Perhaps he's now conspiring with Varvara against me. That's why he's laughing; he's glad because Varvara agrees with him."
He walked angrily and dejectedly into the dining-room. The table was already set for dinner. Varvara met Peredonov with an anxious face.
"Ardalyon Borisitch," she exclaimed, "think what's happened! The cat's run away."
"Well," exclaimed Peredonov with an expression of fear in his face, "why did you let it go?"
"You didn't expect me to sew his tail to my petticoat, did you?" asked Varvara in irritation.
Volodin sniggered. Peredonov thought it had perhaps gone to the Officer of the gendarmerie to purr out all it knew about Peredonov and about where and why he went out at night—she would reveal everything and would even mew a little more than had happened. More troubles! Peredonov sat down on a chair at the table, bent his head, twirled the end of the tablecloth in his fingers and became lost in gloomy reflections.
"Cats always run back to their old home," said Volodin, "because cats get used to a place and not to their master. A cat should be swung round several times and then taken to her new home. She mustn't be shown the way or otherwise she'll go back."