“Certainly I did: I gave him your dress-shirt, and I put on him an overcoat of mine. You want to help such a man as that, he’s a fine fellow.” Zakhár smiled. “He asked me what rank you were, and if you had had important acquaintances, and how many souls of peasantry you had.”

“Very good: but now we must send and find him; and henceforth don’t give him anything to drink, otherwise you’ll do him more harm than good.”

“That is true,” said Zakhár in assent. “He doesn’t seem in very robust health: we used to have an overseer who, like him⁠ ⁠…”

Delesof, who had already long ago heard the story of the drunken overseer, did not give Zakhár time to finish, but bade him make everything ready for the night, and then go out and bring the musician back.

He threw himself down on his bed, and put out the candle; but it was long before he fell asleep, for thinking about Albert.