Everything seemed going round before Auntie’s eyes and in her soul.  The white-faced, sack-like figure smelt like her master, its voice, too, was the familiar master’s voice, but there were moments when Auntie was tortured by doubts, and then she was ready to run away from the parti-coloured figure and to bark.  The new place, the fan-shaped light, the smell, the transformation that had taken place in her master—­all this aroused in her a vague dread and a foreboding that she would certainly meet with some horror such as the big face with the tail instead of a nose.  And then, somewhere through the wall, some hateful band was playing, and from time to time she heard an incomprehensible roar.  Only one thing reassured her—­that was the imperturbability of Fyodor Timofeyitch.  He dozed with the utmost tranquillity under the stool, and did not open his eyes even when it was moved.

A man in a dress coat and a white waistcoat peeped into the little room and said: 

“Miss Arabella has just gone on.  After her—­you.”

Their master made no answer.  He drew a small box from under the table, sat down, and waited.  From his lips and his hands it could be seen that he was agitated, and Auntie could hear how his breathing came in gasps.

“Monsieur George, come on!” someone shouted behind the door.  Their master got up and crossed himself three times, then took the cat from under the stool and put him in the box.

“Come, Auntie,” he said softly.

Auntie, who could make nothing out of it, went up to his hands, he kissed her on the head, and put her beside Fyodor Timofeyitch.  Then followed darkness. . . .  Auntie trampled on the cat, scratched at the walls of the box, and was so frightened that she could not utter a sound, while the box swayed and quivered, as though it were on the waves. . . .

“Here we are again!” her master shouted aloud:  “here we are again!”

Auntie felt that after that shout the box struck against something hard and left off swaying.  There was a loud deep roar, someone was being slapped, and that someone, probably the monster with the tail instead of a nose, roared and laughed so loud that the locks of the box trembled.  In response to the roar, there came a shrill, squeaky laugh from her master, such as he never laughed at home.

“Ha!” he shouted, trying to shout above the roar.  “Honoured friends!  I have only just come from the station!  My granny’s kicked the bucket and left me a fortune!  There is something very heavy in the box, it must be gold, ha! ha!  I bet there’s a million here!  We’ll open it and look. . . .”

The lock of the box clicked.  The bright light dazzled Auntie’s eyes, she jumped out of the box, and, deafened by the roar, ran quickly round her master, and broke into a shrill bark.

“Ha!” exclaimed her master.  “Uncle Fyodor Timofeyitch!  Beloved Aunt, dear relations!  The devil take you!”