Not far from us, between the wall and the slope, near an arbor covered with foliage, was a figure. A man seemed to be crowded against and fastened to the fence and looking through the bushes. By the light of the window, I saw the pointed cap, the long neck, and the familiar profile of Avtonomov. The light streamed out through the trees and lilac blossoms. When I went nearer, I saw in the window the head of an old woman in a cap and with horn spectacles. Her head nodded like that of a man who is working when he is terribly sleepy, and the needles moved rapidly in her hands. The old woman was evidently waiting for her husband to return.
Suddenly she listened.... An irresolute call came out of the darkness:
“Olimpiada Nikolayevna!”
The old woman looked out of the window but saw no one.
A moment of silence, and then the same call was repeated:
“Olimpiada Nikolayevna!”
I did not recognize Avtonomov’s voice. It seemed soft and timid.
“Who’s there?” The old woman suddenly started. “Who called me?”
“It’s I.... Don’t you remember Avtonomov?... We used to know each other....”