steward about the money he had found, and what the lady had done, and said he had come to ask Egór Miháylovitch’s permission. … To Doútlof’s horror, the steward demanded the envelope from him, and examined it. The police-officer even took the envelope in his hand, and asked curtly and dryly for the particulars.
“Oh dear, the money is lost!” thought Doútlof, and began justifying himself.
But the police-officer handed the money back to him.
“What a piece of luck for the clodhopper!” he said.
“It comes handy,” said Egór Miháylovitch. “He’s just been taking his nephew to be conscripted, and now he’ll buy him out.”
“Ah!” said the policeman, and went on in front.
“Will you buy him off—Elijah, I mean?” asked Egór Miháylovitch.
“How am I to buy him off? Will there be money enough? And perhaps it’s not the right time. …”
“Well, you know best,” said the steward, and they both followed the police-officer. They approached the serfs’ house, where the smelly watchmen stood waiting with a lantern in the passage. Doútlof followed them. The watchmen looked guilty: perhaps because of the smell they were spreading; for they had done nothing wrong. All were silent.
“Where?” asked the police-officer.
“Here,” said Egór Miháylovitch in a whisper. “Efím,” he added, “you’re a young lad … go on in front with the lantern.”
Efím had already put a plank straight on the top of the stepladder, and seemed to have lost all fear. Taking two or three steps at a time, he was