we all know. "She's by no means so
elderly," he thought, feeling pleased, "on the contrary I should have
taken her for her daughter."

As for Madame Hohlakov, she was simply enchanted by the young man. "Such
sense! such exactness! in so young a man! in our day! and all that with
such manners and appearance! People say the young people of to-day are no
good for anything, but here's an example!" etc. So she simply forgot this
"dreadful affair," and it was only as she was getting into bed, that,
suddenly recalling "how near death she had been," she exclaimed: "Ah, it
is awful, awful!"

But she fell at once into a sound, sweet sleep.

I would not, however, have dwelt on such trivial and irrelevant details,
if this eccentric meeting of the young official with the by no means
elderly widow had not subsequently turned out to be the foundation of the
whole career of that practical and precise young man. His story is
remembered to this day with amazement in our town, and I shall perhaps
have something to say about it, when I have finished my long history of
the Brothers Karamazov.

Chapter II. The Alarm

Our police captain, Mihail Makarovitch Makarov, a retired
lieutenant-colonel, was a widower and an excellent man. He had only come
to us three years previously, but had won general esteem, chiefly because
he "knew how to keep society together." He was never without visitors, and
could not have got on without them. Some one or other was always dining
with him; he never sat down to table without guests. He gave regular
dinners, too, on all sorts of occasions, sometimes most surprising ones.
Though the fare was not _recherche_, it was abundant. The fish-pies were
excellent, and the wine made up in quantity for what it lacked in quality.

The first room his guests entered was a well-fitted billiard-room, with
pictures of English race-horses, in black frames on the walls, an
essential decoration, as we all know, for a bachelor's billiard-room.
There was card-playing every evening at his house, if only at one table.
But at frequent intervals, all the society of our town, with the mammas
and young ladies, assembled at his house to dance. Though Mihail
Makarovitch was a widower, he did not live alone. His widowed daughter
lived with him, with her two unmarried daughters, grown-up girls, who had
finished their education. They were of agreeable appearance and lively
character, and though every one knew they would have no dowry