Liubov Liubimovna went to Gavrila’s room.  What conversation passed between them is not known, but a short time after, a whole crowd of people was moving across the yard in the direction of Gerasim’s garret.  Gavrila walked in front, holding his cap on with his hand, though there was no wind.  The footmen and cooks were close behind him; Uncle Tail was looking out of a window, giving instructions, that is to say, simply waving his hands.  At the rear there was a crowd of small boys skipping and hopping along; half of them were outsiders who had run up.  On the narrow staircase leading to the garret sat one guard; at the door were standing two more with sticks.  They began to mount the stairs, which they entirely blocked up.  Gavrila went up to the door, knocked with his fist, shouting, “Open the door!”

A stifled bark was audible, but there was no answer.

“Open the door, I tell you,” he repeated.

“But, Gavrila Andreitch,” Stepan observed from below, “he’s deaf, you know—­he doesn’t hear.”

They all laughed.

“What are we to do?” Gavrila rejoined from above.

“Why, there’s a hole there in the door,” answered Stepan, “so you shake the stick in there.”

Gavrila bent down.

“He’s stuffed it up with a coat or something.”

“Well, you just push the coat in.”

At this moment a smothered bark was heard again.

“See, see—­she speaks for herself,” was remarked in the crowd, and again they laughed.

Gavrila scratched his ear.

“No, mate,” he responded at last, “you can poke the coat in yourself, if you like.”

“All right, let me.”

And Stepan scrambled up, took the stick, pushed in the coat, and began waving the stick about in the opening, saying, “Come out, come out!” as he did so.  He was still waving the stick, when suddenly the door of the garret was flung open; all the crowd flew pell-mell down the stairs instantly, Gavrila first of all.  Uncle Tail locked the window.

“Come, come, come,” shouted Gavrila from the yard, “mind what you’re about.”

Gerasim stood without stirring in his doorway.  The crowd gathered at the foot of the stairs.  Gerasim, with his arms akimbo, looked down at all these poor creatures in German coats; in his red peasant’s shirt he looked like a giant before them.  Gavrila took a step forward.

“Mind, mate,” said he, “don’t be insolent.”

And he began to explain to him by signs that the mistress insists on having his dog; that he must hand it over at once, or it would be the worse for him.

Gerasim looked at him, pointed to the dog, made a motion with his hand round his neck, as though he were pulling a noose tight, and glanced with a face of inquiry at the steward.

“Yes, yes,” the latter assented, nodding; “yes, just so.”

Gerasim dropped his eyes, then all of a sudden roused himself and pointed to Mumu, who was all the while standing beside him, innocently wagging her tail and pricking up her ears inquisitively.  Then he repeated the strangling action round his neck and significantly struck himself on the breast, as though announcing he would take upon himself the task of killing Mumu.