“You’ll get it ‘at once’ so that you’ll remember it,” shouted the officer, and his eyes flashed.
“I’m coming,” shouted the soldier, and brought in the somovar. Nekhludoff waited while the soldier placed the somovar on the table. When the officer had followed the soldier out of the room with his cruel little eyes looking as if they were aiming where best to hit him, he made the tea, got the four-cornered decanter out of his travelling case and some Albert biscuits, and having placed all this on the cloth he again turned to Nekhludoff. “Well, how can I be of service to you?”
“I should like to be allowed to visit a prisoner,” said Nekhludoff, without sitting down.
“A political one? That’s forbidden by the law,” said the officer.
“The woman I mean is not a political prisoner,” said Nekhludoff.
“Yes. But pray take a scat,” said the officer. Nekhludoff sat down.
“She is not a political one, but at my request she has been allowed by the higher authorities to join the political prisoners—”
“Oh, yes, I know,” interrupted the other; “a little dark one? Well, yes, that can be managed. Won’t you smoke?” He moved a box of cigarettes towards Nekhludoff, and, having carefully poured out two tumblers of tea, he passed one to Nekhludoff. “If you please,” he said.
“Thank you; I should like to see—”
“The night is long. You’ll have plenty of time. I shall order her to be sent out to you.”