They took themselves off, and I continued my way with greater caution, and at length arrived at my lodgings without mishap.
I was living with a certain old Cossack underofficer whom I loved, not only on account of his kindly disposition, but also, and more especially, on account of his pretty daughter, Nastya.
Wrapped up in a sheepskin coat she was waiting for me, as usual, by the wicket gate. The moon illumined her charming little lips, now turned blue by the cold of the night. Recognizing me she smiled; but I was in no mood to linger with her.
“Good night, Nastya!” I said, and passed on.
She was about to make some answer, but only sighed.
I fastened the door of my room after me, lighted a candle, and threw myself on the bed; but, on that occasion, slumber caused its presence to be awaited longer than usual. By the time I fell asleep the east was beginning to grow pale, but I was evidently predestined not to have my sleep out. At four o’clock in the morning two fists knocked at my window. I sprang up.
“What is the matter?”
“Get up—dress yourself!”
I dressed hurriedly and went out.
“Do you know what has happened?” said three officers who had come for me, speaking all in one voice.