l, and in one of the rooms of the
inn, on the wall could be seen, among the family photographs, a miniature
photograph of this official in uniform and official epaulettes. The two
younger daughters used to wear fashionable blue or green dresses, fitting
tight at the back, and with trains a yard long, on Church holidays or when
they went to pay visits. But next morning they would get up at dawn, as
usual, sweep out the rooms with a birch-broom, empty the slops, and clean
up after lodgers.

In spite of the thousands of roubles he had saved, Trifon Borissovitch was
very fond of emptying the pockets of a drunken guest, and remembering that
not a month ago he had, in twenty-four hours, made two if not three
hundred roubles out of Dmitri, when he had come on his escapade with
Grushenka, he met him now with eager welcome, scenting his prey the moment
Mitya drove up to the steps.

"Dmitri Fyodorovitch, dear sir, we see you once more!"

"Stay, Trifon Borissovitch," began Mitya, "first and foremost, where is
she?"

"Agrafena Alexandrovna?" The inn-keeper understood at once, looking
sharply into Mitya's face. "She's here, too ..."

"With whom? With whom?"

"Some strangers. One is an official gentleman, a Pole, to judge from his
speech. He sent the horses for her from here; and there's another with
him, a friend of his, or a fellow traveler, there's no telling. They're
dressed like civilians."

"Well, are they feasting? Have they money?"

"Poor sort of a feast! Nothing to boast of, Dmitri Fyodorovitch."

"Nothing to boast of? And who are the others?"

"They're two gentlemen from the town.... They've come back from Tcherny,
and are putting up here. One's quite a young gentleman, a relative of Mr.
Miuesov, he must be, but I've forgotten his name ... and I expect you know
the other, too, a gentleman called Maximov. He's been on a pilgrimage, so
he says, to the monastery in the town. He's traveling with this young
relation of Mr. Miuesov."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Stay, listen, Trifon Borissovitch. Tell me the chief thing: What of her?
How is she?"

"Oh, she's only just come. She's sitting with them."

"Is she cheerful? Is she laughing?"

"No, I think she's not laughing much. She's sitting quite dull. She's
combing the young gentleman's hair."

"The Pole--the officer?"

"He's not young, and he's not an officer, either. Not him, sir. It's the
young gentleman that's Mr. Miuesov's relation ... I've forgotten his n