Akaky Akakiyevich ran home and arrived in a state of complete disorder, his hair which grew very thinly upon his temples and the back of his head all tousled, his body, arms and legs, covered with snow.  The old woman, who was mistress of his lodgings, on hearing a terrible knocking, sprang hastily from her bed, and, with only one shoe on, ran to open the door, pressing the sleeve of her chemise to her bosom out of modesty.  But when she had opened it, she fell back on beholding Akaky Akakiyevich in such a condition.  When he told her about the affair, she clasped her hands, and said that he must go straight to the district chief of police, for his subordinate would turn up his nose, promise well, and drop the matter there.  The very best thing to do, therefore, would be to go to the district chief, whom she knew, because Finnish Anna, her former cook, was now nurse at his house.  She often saw him passing the house, and he was at church every Sunday, praying, but at the same time gazing cheerfully at everybody; so that he must be a good man, judging from all appearances.  Having listened to this opinion, Akaky Akakiyevich betook himself sadly to his room.  And how he spent the night there, any one who can put himself in another’s place may readily imagine.

Early in the morning, he presented himself at the district chief’s, but was told the official was asleep.  He went again at ten and was again informed that he was asleep.  At eleven, and they said, “The superintendent is not at home.”  At dinner time, and the clerks in the ante-room would not admit him on any terms, and insisted upon knowing his business.  So that at last, for once in his life, Akaky Akakiyevich felt an inclination to show some spirit, and said curtly that he must see the chief in person, that they ought not to presume to refuse him entrance, that he came from the department of justice, and that when he complained of them, they would see.

The clerks dared make no reply to this, and one of them went to call the chief, who listened to the strange story of the theft of the coat.  Instead of directing his attention to the principal points of the matter, he began to question Akaky Akakiyevich.  Why was he going home so late?  Was he in the habit of doing so, or had he been to some disorderly house?  So that Akaky Akakiyevich got thoroughly confused, and left him, without knowing whether the affair of his cloak was in proper train or not.

All that day, for the first time in his life, he never went near the department.  The next day he made his appearance, very pale, and in his old cape, which had become even more shabby.  The news of the robbery of the cloak touched many, although there were some officials present who never lost an opportunity, even such a one as the present, of ridiculing Akaky Akakiyevich.  They decided to make a collection for him on the spot, but the officials had already spent a great deal in subscribing for the director’s portrait, and for some book, at the suggestion of the head of that division, who was a friend of the author; and so the sum was trifling.