I found him in a surprising condition: upset and in great agitation, but at the same time unmistakably triumphant. On the table in the middle of the room the samovar was boiling, and there was a glass of tea poured out but untouched and forgotten. Stepan Trofimovitch was wandering round the table and peeping into every corner of the room, unconscious of what he was doing. He was wearing his usual red knitted jacket, but seeing me, he hurriedly put on his coat and waistcoat⁠—a thing he had never done before when any of his intimate friends found him in his jacket. He took me warmly by the hand at once.

“ Enfin un ami! ” (He heaved a deep sigh.) “ Cher , I’ve sent to you only, and no one knows anything. We must give Nastasya orders to lock the doors and not admit anyone, except, of course them.⁠ ⁠… Vous comprenez? ”