There were lights in the windows of all the three houses, and, like all such lights, they promised, here in a specially deceptive manner, something cosy inside the walls.  Lamps were burning before the porches of the houses and about five lamps more along the walls lit up the yard.

The sergeant led Nekhludoff along a plank which lay across the yard up to the porch of the smallest of the houses.

When he had gone up the three steps of the porch he let Nekhludoff pass before him into the ante-room, in which a small lamp was burning, and which was filled with smoky fumes.  By the stove a soldier in a coarse shirt with a necktie and black trousers, and with one top-boot on, stood blowing the charcoal in a somovar, using the other boot as bellows. [The long boots worn in Russia have concertina-like sides, and when held to the chimney of the somovar can be used instead of bellows to make the charcoal inside burn up.] When he saw Nekhludoff, the soldier left the somovar and helped him off with his waterproof; then went into the inner room.

“He has come, your honour.”

“Well, ask him in,” came an angry voice.

“Go in at the door,” said the soldier, and went back to the somovar.

In the next room an officer with fair moustaches and a very red face, dressed in an Austrian jacket that closely fitted his broad chest and shoulders, sat at a covered table, on which were the remains of his dinner and two bottles; there was a strong smell of tobacco and some very strong, cheap scent in the warm room.  On seeing Nekhludoff the officer rose and gazed ironically and suspiciously, as it seemed, at the newcomer.

“What is it you want?” he asked, and, not waiting for a reply, he shouted through the open door: 

“Bernoff, the somovar!  What are you about?”

“Coming at once.”

“You’ll get it ‘at once’ so that you’ll remember it,” shouted the officer, and his eyes flashed.

“I’m coming,” shouted the soldier, and brought in the somovar.  Nekhludoff waited while the soldier placed the somovar on the table.  When the officer had followed the soldier out of the room with his cruel little eyes looking as if they were aiming where best to hit him, he made the tea, got the four-cornered decanter out of his travelling case and some Albert biscuits, and having placed all this on the cloth he again turned to Nekhludoff.  “Well, how can I be of service to you?”

“I should like to be allowed to visit a prisoner,” said Nekhludoff, without sitting down.

“A political one?  That’s forbidden by the law,” said the officer.

“The woman I mean is not a political prisoner,” said Nekhludoff.

“Yes.  But pray take a scat,” said the officer.  Nekhludoff sat down.

“She is not a political one, but at my request she has been allowed by the higher authorities to join the political prisoners—­”

“Oh, yes, I know,” interrupted the other; “a little dark one?  Well, yes, that can be managed.  Won’t you smoke?” He moved a box of cigarettes towards Nekhludoff, and, having carefully poured out two tumblers of tea, he passed one to Nekhludoff.  “If you please,” he said.