! Before me stretched a long,
narrow, and perfectly empty street; the morning mist filled it with its
dim, leaden light,--but my gaze penetrated to its very extremity. I
could count all its buildings ... and not a single living being was
anywhere astir! The tall negro in the cloak had vanished as suddenly as
he had appeared! I was amazed ... but only for a moment. Another feeling
immediately took possession of me; that street which stretched out
before my eyes, all dumb and dead, as it were,--I recognised it! It was
the street of my dream. I trembled and shivered--the morning was so
chilly--and instantly, without the slightest wavering, with a certain
terror of confidence, I went onward.

I began to seek with my eyes.... Yes, there it is, yonder, on the right,
with a corner projecting on the sidewalk--yonder is the house of my
dream, yonder is the ancient gate with the stone scrolls on each
side.... The house is not circular, it is true, but square ... but that
is a matter of no importance.... I knock at the gate, I knock once,
twice, thrice, ever more and more loudly.... The gate opens slowly, with
a heavy screech, as though yawning. In front of me stands a young
serving-maid with a dishevelled head and sleepy eyes. She has evidently
just waked up.

"Does the baron live here?" I inquire, as I run a swift glance over the
deep, narrow courtyard.... It is there; it is all there ... there are
the planks which I had seen in my dream.

"No," the maid answers me, "the baron does not live here."

"What dost thou mean by that? It is impossible!"

"He is not here now. He went away yesterday."

"Whither?"

"To America."

"To America!" I involuntarily repeated. "But he is coming back?"

The maid looked suspiciously at me.

"I don't know. Perhaps he will not come back at all."

"But has he been living here long?"

"No, not long; about a week. Now he is not here at all."

"But what was the family name of that baron?"

The maid-servant stared at me.

"Don't you know his name? We simply called him the baron. Hey, there!
Piotr!" she cried, perceiving that I was pushing my way in.--"come
hither: some stranger or other is asking all sorts of questions."

From the house there presented itself the shambling figure of a robust
labourer.

"What's the matter? What's wanted?" he inquired in a hoarse voice,--and
having listened to me with a surly mien, he repeated what the
maid-servant had said.

"But who does live here?