The piano was silent, but one could hear the sound of reluctant steps, and some one looked in at the door.

The inspector seemed to feel eased by the interval of silence, lit a thick cigarette of weak tobacco, and offered one to Nekhludoff.

Nekhludoff refused.

“What I want is to see Maslova.”

“Oh, yes, that can be managed.  Now, then, what do you want?” he said, addressing a little girl of five or six, who came into the room and walked up to her father with her head turned towards Nekhludoff, and her eyes fixed on him.

“There, now, you’ll fall down,” said the inspector, smiling, as the little girl ran up to him, and, not looking where she was going, caught her foot in a little rug.

“Well, then, if I may, I shall go.”

“It’s not very convenient to see Maslova to-day,” said the inspector.

“How’s that?”

“Well, you know, it’s all your own fault,” said the inspector, with a slight smile.  “Prince, give her no money into her hands.  If you like, give it me.  I will keep it for her.  You see, you gave her some money yesterday; she got some spirits (it’s an evil we cannot manage to root out), and to-day she is quite tipsy, even violent.”

“Can this be true?”

“Oh, yes, it is.  I have even been obliged to have recourse to severe measures, and to put her into a separate cell.  She is a quiet woman in an ordinary way.  But please do not give her any money.  These people are so—­” What had happened the day before came vividly back to Nekhludoff’s mind, and again he was seized with fear.

“And Doukhova, a political prisoner; might I see her?”

“Yes, if you like,” said the inspector.  He embraced the little girl, who was still looking at Nekhludoff, got up, and, tenderly motioning her aside, went into the ante-room.  Hardly had he got into the overcoat which the maid helped him to put on, and before he had reached the door, the distinct sounds of Clementi’s roulades again began.

“She entered the Conservatoire, but there is such disorder there.  She has a great gift,” said the inspector, as they went down the stairs.  “She means to play at concerts.”

The inspector and Nekhludoff arrived at the prison.  The gates were instantly opened as they appeared.  The jailers, with their fingers lifted to their caps, followed the inspector with their eyes.  Four men, with their heads half shaved, who were carrying tubs filled with something, cringed when they saw the inspector.  One of them frowned angrily, his black eyes glaring.

“Of course a talent like that must be developed; it would not do to bury it, but in a small lodging, you know, it is rather hard.”  The inspector went on with the conversation, taking no notice of the prisoners.

“Who is it you want to see?”

“Doukhova.”

“Oh, she’s in the tower.  You’ll have to wait a little,” he said.