He rang.

“Well, did you find him?” he asked of Zakhár, who answered his call.

“He’s a poor, wretched fellow, Dmitri Ivánovitch,” said Zakhár, shaking his head significantly, and closing his eyes.

“What! is he drunk?”

“Very weak.”

“Had he the violin with him?”

“I brought it: the lady gave it to me.”

“All right. Now please don’t bring him to me tonight: let him sleep it off; and tomorrow don’t under any circumstances let him out of the house.”

But before Zakhár had time to leave the room, Albert came in.