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XIII

And lo, it came to pass, that remarkable, that unexpected thing! Twenty paces in front of me I suddenly beheld that same negro who had spoken to the baron in my presence at the coffee-house! Enveloped in the same cloak which I had then noticed on him, he seemed to have popped up out of the earth, and with his back turned toward me was walking with brisk strides along the narrow sidewalk of the crooked alley! I immediately dashed in pursuit of him, but he redoubled his gait, although he did not glance behind him, and suddenly made an abrupt turn around the corner of a projecting house. I rushed to that corner and turned it as quickly as the negro had done…. Marvellous to relate! Before me stretched a long, narrow, and perfectly empty street; the morning mist filled it with its dim, leaden light,–but my gaze penetrated to its very extremity. I could count all its buildings … and not a single living being was anywhere astir! The tall negro in the cloak had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared! I was amazed … but only for a moment. Another feeling immediately took possession of me; that street which stretched out before my eyes, all dumb and dead, as it were,–I recognised it! It was the street of my dream. I trembled and shivered–the morning was so chilly–and instantly, without the slightest wavering, with a certain terror of confidence, I went onward.

I began to seek with my eyes…. Yes, there it is, yonder, on the right, with a corner projecting on the sidewalk–yonder is the house of my dream, yonder is the ancient gate with the stone scrolls on each side…. The house is not circular, it is true, but square … but that is a matter of no importance…. I knock at the gate, I knock once, twice, thrice, ever more and more loudly…. The gate opens slowly, with a heavy screech, as though yawning. In front of me stands a young serving-maid with a dishevelled head and sleepy eyes. She has evidently just waked up.

“Does the baron live here?” I inquire, as I run a swift glance over the deep, narrow courtyard…. It is there; it is all there … there are the planks which I had seen in my dream.

“No,” the maid answers me, “the baron does not live here.”

“What dost thou mean by that? It is impossible!”

“He is not here now. He went away yesterday.”

“Whither?”

“To America.”

“To America!” I involuntarily repeated. “But he is coming back?”

The maid looked suspiciously at me.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he will not come back at all.”

“But has he been living here long?”

“No, not long; about a week. Now he is not here at all.”

“But what was the family name of that baron?”

The maid-servant stared at me.

“Don’t you know his name? We simply called him the baron. Hey, there! Piotr!” she cried, perceiving that I was pushing my way in.–“come hither: some stranger or other is asking all sorts of questions.”

From the house there presented itself the shambling figure of a robust labourer.

“What’s the matter? What’s wanted?” he inquired in a hoarse voice,–and having listened to me with a surly mien, he repeated what the maid-servant had said.

“But who does live here?” I said.

“Our master.”

“And who is he?”

“A carpenter. They are all carpenters in this street.”

“Can he be seen?”

“Impossible now, he is asleep.”

“And cannot I go into the house?”

“No; go your way.”

“Well, and can I see your master a little later?”

“Why not? Certainly. He can always be seen…. That’s his business as a dealer. Only, go your way now. See how early it is.”

“Well, and how about that negro?” I suddenly asked.

The labourer stared in amazement, first at me, then at the maid-servant.

“What negro?” he said at last.–“Go away, sir. You can come back later. Talk with the master.”

I went out into the street. The gate was instantly banged behind me, heavily and sharply, without squeaking this time.