“But you’ll deceive us,” Gavrila waved back in response.

Gerasim looked at him, smiled scornfully, struck himself again on the breast, and slammed to the door.

They all looked at one another in silence.

“What does that mean?” Gavrila began.  “He’s locked himself in.”

“Let him be, Gavrila Andreitch,” Stepan advised; “he’ll do it if he’s promised.  He’s like that, you know. . . .  If he makes a promise, it’s a certain thing.  He’s not like us others in that.  The truth’s the truth with him.  Yes, indeed.”

“Yes,” they all repeated, nodding their heads, “yes—­that’s so—­yes.”

Uncle Tail opened his window, and he too said, “Yes.”

“Well, may be, we shall see,” responded Gavrila; “any way, we won’t take off the guard.  Here you, Eroshka!” he added, addressing a poor fellow in a yellow nankeen coat, who considered himself to be a gardener, “what have you to do?  Take a stick and sit here, and if anything happens, run to me at once!”

Eroshka took a stick, and sat down on the bottom stair.  The crowd dispersed, all except a few inquisitive small boys, while Gavrila went home and sent word through Liubov Liubimovna to the mistress that everything had been done, while he sent a postilion for a policeman in case of need.  The old lady tied a knot in her handkerchief, sprinkled some eau-de-Cologne on it, sniffed at it, and rubbed her temples with it, drank some tea, and, being still under the influence of the cherrybay drops, fell asleep again.

An hour after all this hubbub the garret door opened, and Gerasim showed himself.  He had on his best coat; he was leading Mumu by a string.  Eroshka moved aside and let him pass.  Gerasim went to the gates.  All the small boys in the yard stared at him in silence.  He did not even turn round; he only put his cap on in the street.  Gavrila sent the same Eroshka to follow him and keep watch on him as a spy.  Eroshka, seeing from a distance that he had gone into a cookshop with his dog, waited for him to come out again.

Gerasim was well known at the cookshop, and his signs were understood.  He asked for cabbage soup with meat in it, and sat down with his arms on the table.  Mumu stood beside his chair, looking calmly at him with her intelligent eyes.  Her coat was glossy; one could see she had just been combed down.  They brought Gerasim the soup.  He crumbled some bread into it, cut the meat up small, and put the plate on the ground.  Mumu began eating in her usual refined way, her little muzzle daintily held so as scarcely to touch her food.  Gerasim gazed a long while at her; two big tears suddenly rolled from his eyes; one fell on the dog’s brow, the other into the soup.  He shaded his face with his hand.  Mumu ate up half the plateful, and came away from it, licking her lips.  Gerasim got up, paid for the soup, and went out, followed by the rather perplexed glances of the waiter.  Eroshka, seeing Gerasim, hid round a corner, and letting him get in front, followed him again.