But Nekhludoff was firm, and while the footman and porter sprang toward him, handing him his overcoat and cane, and opening the door, before which a policeman stood, he excused himself, pleading want of time.
"Well, then, Thursday, please. That is her reception day. I will tell her!" Maslenikoff shouted from the top of the stairs.
CHAPTER XLIX.
From Maslenikoff, Nekhludoff went directly to the prison and approached the familiar apartments of the inspector. The sounds of a tuneless piano again assailed his ears, but this time it was not a rhapsody that was played, but a study by Clementi, and, as before, with unusual force, precision and rapidity. The servant with a handkerchief around one eye said that the captain was in, and showed Nekhludoff into the small reception-room, in which was a lounge, a table and a lamp, one side of the rose-colored shade of which was scorched, standing on a knitted woolen napkin. The inspector appeared with an expression of sadness and torment on his face.
"Glad to see you. What can I do for you?" he said, buttoning up the middle button of his uniform.
"I went to the vice-governor, and here is my pass," said Nekhludoff, handing him the document. "I would like to see Maslova."
"Markova?" asked the inspector, who could not hear him on account of the music.
"Maslova."
"O, yes! O, yes!"