Doútlof seemed in doubt. He was still hoping that perhaps the money was not the mistress’s, and that the address had not been read out correctly to him. But Dounyásha confirmed it, and he put the envelope back into his bosom with a sigh, and was about to go.

“I suppose I shall have to hand it over to the police,” he said.

“Wait a bit! I’ll try again,” said Dounyásha, stopping him, after having attentively followed the disappearance of the envelope into the bosom of the peasant’s coat. “Let me have the letter.”

Doútlof took it out again, but did not at once put it into Dounyásha’s outstretched hand.

“Say that Doútlof found it⁠—Semyón.⁠ ⁠…”

“Well, let’s have it!”

“I was thinking it was just nothing⁠—only a letter; but a soldier read out to me that there was money inside.⁠ ⁠…”