He longed to speak to someone gently and lovingly at once, and knocked at the door. When the sentinel looked in at his window, he asked him what the time was, and if he would soon be relieved; but the sentinel did not answer. Then he asked for the inspector.

The inspector came, and wanted to know what he desired. “Here⁠—I have written to my mother. Please let her have it;” and at the thought of his mother the tears again filled his eyes.

The inspector took the letter, promising to forward it, and was going away; but Svetlogoúb stopped him.

“Wait a minute!” he said, holding him affectionately by his sleeve. “You are kind⁠—why do you stay in such a dismal service?”

The inspector smiled an unnatural, piteous smile, and hanging his head, he said:

“One has to live.”