CHAPTER XLIX.

From Maslenikoff, Nekhludoff went directly to the prison and approached the familiar apartments of the inspector.  The sounds of a tuneless piano again assailed his ears, but this time it was not a rhapsody that was played, but a study by Clementi, and, as before, with unusual force, precision and rapidity.  The servant with a handkerchief around one eye said that the captain was in, and showed Nekhludoff into the small reception-room, in which was a lounge, a table and a lamp, one side of the rose-colored shade of which was scorched, standing on a knitted woolen napkin.  The inspector appeared with an expression of sadness and torment on his face.

“Glad to see you.  What can I do for you?” he said, buttoning up the middle button of his uniform.

“I went to the vice-governor, and here is my pass,” said Nekhludoff, handing him the document.  “I would like to see Maslova.”

“Markova?” asked the inspector, who could not hear him on account of the music.

“Maslova.”

“O, yes!  O, yes!”

The inspector rose and approached the door through which Clementi’s roulade was heard.

“Marusia; if you would only stop for a little while,” he said in a voice which showed that this music was the cross of his life; “I cannot hear anything.”

The music ceased; discontented steps were heard, and some one looked through the door.

The inspector, as if relieved by the cessation of the music, lit a thick cigarette of light tobacco and offered one to Nekhludoff, which he refused.

“Can Maslova——­”

“It is not convenient to see Maslova to-day,” said the inspector.

“Why?”

“It is your own fault,” slightly smiling, said the inspector.  “Prince, you must not give her any money.  If you wish to give her money, leave it with me; I will keep it for her.  You see, you must have given her money yesterday, for she bought wine—­it is hard to eradicate that evil—­and is intoxicated to-day.  In fact, she became unruly.”

“Is it possible?”

“Why, I even had to employ strict measures, had her transferred to another cell.  She is very tractable, but, please do not give her money.  That is their failing.”

Nekhludoff quickly recalled the incident of yesterday, and he was seized with fear.

“And may I see Bogodukhovskaia, the political?” Nekhludoff asked, after some silence.

“Well, yes,” said the inspector.  “What are you doing here?” he turned to a five-year-old girl who came into the room, walking toward her father, her eyes riveted on Nekhludoff.  “Look out, or you will fall,” he said, smiling, as the little girl, walking with her head turned toward Nekhludoff, tripped on the carpet and ran to her father.

“If she may be seen, I would go now.”

“Oh yes; she may be seen, of course,” said the inspector, embracing the little girl, who was still looking at Nekhludoff.  “All right——­”