On Saturday after dinner Peredonov went to play billiards. His thoughts were heavy and melancholy. He thought:
"It's awful to live among hostile and envious people. But what can one do—they can't all be inspectors! That's the struggle for existence!"
At the corner of two streets he met the Officer of the gendarmerie—an unpleasant meeting.
Lieutenant-Colonel Nikolai Vadimovitch Roubovsky, a medium-sized, stout man with heavy eyebrows, cheerful grey eyes, and a limping gait which made his spurs jingle unevenly and loudly, was a very amiable person and was therefore popular in society. He knew all the people in town, all their affairs and relations, and loved to hear gossip, but was himself as discreet and silent as the grave, and caused no one any unnecessary unpleasantness.
They stopped, greeted each other and entered into conversation. Peredonov looked frowningly on each side and said cautiously:
"I hear that our Natasha is with you now. You mustn't believe anything she tells you about me, because she's lying."
"I don't listen to servants' gossip," said Roubovsky with dignity.
"She's really a bad one," said Peredonov, paying no attention to Roubovsky's remark; "her young man is a Pole; very likely she came to you on purpose to get hold of some official secret."
"Please don't worry about that," said the Lieutenant-Colonel dryly. "I haven't any plans of fortresses in my possession."
This introduction of fortresses perplexed Peredonov; it seemed to him that Roubovsky was hinting at something—that he thought of imprisoning Peredonov in a fortress.