It began to get light, and the unseen stranger who had so frightened Auntie was no longer in the room.  When it was quite daylight, the porter came in, took the gander, and carried him away.  And soon afterwards the old woman came in and took away the trough.

Auntie went into the drawing-room and looked behind the cupboard:  her master had not eaten the chicken bone, it was lying in its place among the dust and spiders’ webs.  But Auntie felt sad and dreary and wanted to cry.  She did not even sniff at the bone, but went under the sofa, sat down there, and began softly whining in a thin voice.

VII

An Unsuccessful Debut

One fine evening the master came into the room with the dirty wall-paper, and, rubbing his hands, said: 

“Well. . . .”

He meant to say something more, but went away without saying it.  Auntie, who during her lessons had thoroughly studied his face and intonations, divined that he was agitated, anxious and, she fancied, angry.  Soon afterwards he came back and said: 

“To-day I shall take with me Auntie and F’yodor Timofeyitch.  To-day, Auntie, you will take the place of poor Ivan Ivanitch in the ’Egyptian Pyramid.’  Goodness knows how it will be!  Nothing is ready, nothing has been thoroughly studied, there have been few rehearsals!  We shall be disgraced, we shall come to grief!”

Then he went out again, and a minute later, came back in his fur-coat and top hat.  Going up to the cat he took him by the fore-paws and put him inside the front of his coat, while Fyodor Timofeyitch appeared completely unconcerned, and did not even trouble to open his eyes.  To him it was apparently a matter of absolute indifference whether he remained lying down, or were lifted up by his paws, whether he rested on his mattress or under his master’s fur-coat.

“Come along, Auntie,” said her master.

Wagging her tail, and understanding nothing, Auntie followed him.  A minute later she was sitting in a sledge by her master’s feet and heard him, shrinking with cold and anxiety, mutter to himself: 

“We shall be disgraced!  We shall come to grief!”

The sledge stopped at a big strange-looking house, like a soup-ladle turned upside down.  The long entrance to this house, with its three glass doors, was lighted up with a dozen brilliant lamps.  The doors opened with a resounding noise and, like jaws, swallowed up the people who were moving to and fro at the entrance.  There were a great many people, horses, too, often ran up to the entrance, but no dogs were to be seen.