"I thank you. And now as to your honorarium?"
"My clerk will hand you the petition and also my bill."
"One more question I would like to ask you. The prosecutor gave me a pass for the prison, but I was told there that it was necessary to obtain the Governor's permission to visit the prison on other than visitors' days. Is it necessary?"
"I think so. But he is away, and the lieutenant is in his place."
"You mean Maslenikoff?"
"Yes."
"I know him," said Nekhludoff, rising to leave.
At that moment the lawyer's wife, an extremely ugly, pug-nosed and bony woman, rushed into the room. Not only was her attire unusually original—she was fairly loaded down with plush and silk things, bright yellow and green—but her oily hair was done up in curls, and she triumphantly rushed into the reception-room, accompanied by a tall, smiling man with an earth-colored face, in a cut-away coat with silk facings and a white tie. This was an author. He knew Nekhludoff by sight.
"Anatal," she said, opening the door, "come here. Semion Ivanovitch promised to read to us his poem, and you must read something from Garshin."
Nekhludoff was preparing to go, but the lawyer's wife whispered something to her husband and turned to him: