When he reached his bungalow, he sat down to rest on the doorstep.  It was just ten o’clock, and a bit of the moon peeped out from behind the clouds.  There was not a soul in the street nor near the bungalows; elderly summer visitors were already going to bed, while young ones were walking in the wood.  Feeling in both his pockets for a match to light his cigarette, Miguev brought his elbow into contact with something soft.  He looked idly at his right elbow, and his face was instantly contorted by a look of as much horror as though he had seen a snake beside him.  On the step at the very door lay a bundle.  Something oblong in shape was wrapped up in something—­judging by the feel of it, a wadded quilt.  One end of the bundle was a little open, and the collegiate assessor, putting in his hand, felt something damp and warm.  He leaped on to his feet in horror, and looked about him like a criminal trying to escape from his warders....

“She has left it!” he muttered wrathfully through his teeth, clenching his fists.  “Here it lies....  Here lies my transgression!  O Lord!”

He was numb with terror, anger, and shame...  What was he to do now?  What would his wife say if she found out?  What would his colleagues at the office say?  His Excellency would be sure to dig him in the ribs, guffaw, and say:  “I congratulate you!...  He-he-he!  Though your beard is gray, your heart is gay....  You are a rogue, Semyon Erastovitch!” The whole colony of summer visitors would know his secret now, and probably the respectable mothers of families would shut their doors to him.  Such incidents always get into the papers, and the humble name of Miguev would be published all over Russia....

The middle window of the bungalow was open and he could distinctly hear his wife, Anna Filippovna, laying the table for supper; in the yard close to the gate Yermolay, the porter, was plaintively strumming on the balalaika.  The baby had only to wake up and begin to cry, and the secret would be discovered.  Miguev was conscious of an overwhelming desire to make haste.

“Haste, haste!...” he muttered, “this minute, before anyone sees.  I’ll carry it away and lay it on somebody’s doorstep....”

Miguev took the bundle in one hand and quietly, with a deliberate step to avoid awakening suspicion, went down the street....

“A wonderfully nasty position!” he reflected, trying to assume an air of unconcern.  “A collegiate assessor walking down the street with a baby!  Good heavens! if anyone sees me and understands the position, I am done for....  I’d better put it on this doorstep....  No, stay, the windows are open and perhaps someone is looking.  Where shall I put it?  I know!  I’ll take it to the merchant Myelkin’s....  Merchants are rich people and tenderhearted; very likely they will say thank you and adopt it.”

And Miguev made up his mind to take the baby to Myelkin’s, although the merchant’s villa was in the furthest street, close to the river.