Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories

I told Semyon to call him.

He made his appearance. He expressed some regret at the death of the

lieutenant; wondered what could have possessed him....

'Was he in debt to you?' I asked.

'No, sir. He always paid punctually for everything he had. But I tell

you what,' here the pedlar grinned, 'you have got something of mine.'

'What is it?'

'Why, that,' he pointed to the brass comb lying on the little toilet

table. 'A thing of little value,' the fellow went on, 'but as it was a

present...'

All at once I raised my head. Something dawned upon me.

'Your name is Ilya?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Was it you, then, I saw under the willow tree the other night?'

The pedlar winked, and grinned more broadly than ever.

'Yes, sir.'

'And it was your name that was called?'

'Yes, sir,' the pedlar repeated with playful modesty. 'There is a

young girl here,' he went on in a high falsetto, 'who, owing to the

great strictness of her parents----'

'Very good, very good,' I interrupted him, handed him the comb and

dismissed him.

'So that was the 'Ilyusha,'' I thought, and I sank into philosophic

reflections which I will not, however, intrude upon you as I don't

want to prevent anyone from believing in fate, predestination and such

like.

When I was back in Petersburg I made inquiries about Masha. I even

discovered the doctor who had treated her. To my amazement I heard

from him that she had died not through poisoning but of cholera! I

told him what I had heard from Tyeglev.

'Eh! Eh!' cried the doctor all at once. 'Is that Tyeglev an artillery

officer, a man of middle height and with a stoop, speaks with a lisp?'

'Yes.'

'Well, I thought so. That gentleman came to me--I had never seen him

before--and began insisting that the girl had poisoned herself. 'It

was cholera,' I told him. 'Poison,' he said. 'It was cholera, I tell

you,' I said. 'No, it was poison,' he declared. I saw that the fellow

was a sort of lunatic, with a broad base to his head--a sign of

obstinacy, he would not give over easily.... Well, it doesn't matter,

I thought, the patient is dead.... 'Very well,' I said, 'she poisoned

herself if you prefer it.' He thanked me, even shook hands with

me--and departed.'

I told the doctor how the officer had shot himself the same day.

The doctor did not turn a hair--and only observed that there were all

sorts of queer fellows in the world.

'There are indeed,' I assented.

Yes, someone has said truly of suicides: until they carry out their

design, no one believes them; and when they do, no one regrets them.

Baden, 1870.

THE INN

On the high road to B., at an equal distance from the two towns

through which it runs, there stood not long ago a roomy inn, very well

known to the drivers of troikas, peasants with trains of waggons,

merchants, clerks, pedlars and the numerous travellers of all sorts

who journey upon our roads at all times of the year. Everyone used to

call at the inn; only perhaps a landowner's coach, drawn by six

home-bred horses, would roll majestically by, which did not prevent

either the coachman or the groom on the footboard from looking with

peculiar feeling and attention at the little porch so familiar to them;

or some poor devil in a wretched little cart and with three five-kopeck

pieces in the bag in his bosom would urge on his weary nag when he

reached the prosperous inn, and would hasten on to some night's lodging