“I have brought it, Ivan Petrovitch!” Groholsky, re-entering, whispered above his ear.  “I have brought it—­take it. . . .  Here in this roll there are forty thousand. . . .  With this cheque will you kindly get twenty the day after to-morrow from Valentinov? . . .  Here is a bill of exchange . . . a cheque. . . .  The remaining thirty thousand in a day or two. . . .  My steward will bring it to you.”

Groholsky, pink and excited, with all his limbs in motion, laid before Bugrov a heap of rolls of notes and bundles of papers.  The heap was big, and of all sorts of hues and tints.  Never in the course of his life had Bugrov seen such a heap.  He spread out his fat fingers and, not looking at Groholsky, fell to going through the bundles of notes and bonds. . . .

Groholsky spread out all the money, and moved restlessly about the room, looking for the Dulcinea who had been bought and sold.

Filling his pockets and his pocket-book, Bugrov thrust the securities into the table drawer, and, drinking off half a decanter full of water, dashed out into the street.

“Cab!” he shouted in a frantic voice.

At half-past eleven that night he drove up to the entrance of the Paris Hotel.  He went noisily upstairs and knocked at the door of Groholsky’s apartments.  He was admitted.  Groholsky was packing his things in a portmanteau, Liza was sitting at the table trying on bracelets.  They were both frightened when Bugrov went in to them.  They fancied that he had come for Liza and had brought back the money which he had taken in haste without reflection.  But Bugrov had not come for Liza.  Ashamed of his new get-up and feeling frightfully awkward in it, he bowed and stood at the door in the attitude of a flunkey.  The get-up was superb.  Bugrov was unrecognisable.  His huge person, which had never hitherto worn anything but a uniform, was clothed in a fresh, brand-new suit of fine French cloth and of the most fashionable cut.  On his feet spats shone with sparkling buckles.  He stood ashamed of his new get-up, and with his right hand covered the watch-chain for which he had, an hour before, paid three hundred roubles.

“I have come about something,” he began.  “A business agreement is beyond price.  I am not going to give up Mishutka. . . .”

“What Mishutka?” asked Groholsky.

“My son.”

Groholsky and Liza looked at each other.  Liza’s eyes bulged, her cheeks flushed, and her lips twitched. . . .

“Very well,” she said.

She thought of Mishutka’s warm little cot.  It would be cruel to exchange that warm little cot for a chilly sofa in the hotel, and she consented.

“I shall see him,” she said.

Bugrov bowed, walked out, and flew down the stairs in his splendour, cleaving the air with his expensive cane. . . .

“Home,” he said to the cabman.  “I am starting at five o’clock to-morrow morning. . . .  You will come; if I am asleep, you will wake me.  We are driving out of town.”