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‘Agrafena Alexandrovna?’ The inn-keeper understood at
once, looking sharply into Mitya’s face. ‘She’s here, too..’
‘With whom? With whom?’
‘Some strangers. One is an official gentleman, a Pole, to
judge from his speech. He sent the horses for her from here;
and there’s another with him, a friend of his, or a fellow
traveller, there’s no telling. They’re dressed like civilians.’
‘Well, are they feasting? Have they money?’
‘Poor sort of a feast! Nothing to boast of, Dmitri Fyodo-
rovitch.’
‘Nothing to boast of? And who are the others?’
‘They’re two gentlemen from the town.... They’ve come
back from Tcherny, and are putting up here. One’s quite a
young gentleman, a relative of Mr. Miusov he must be, but
I’ve forgotten his name... and I expect you know the other,
too, a gentleman called Maximov. He’s been on a pilgrim-
age, so he says, to the monastery in the town. He’s travelling
with this young relation of Mr. Miusov.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Stay, listen, Trifon Borissovitch. Tell me the chief thing:
What of her? How is she?’
‘Oh, she’s only just come. She’s sitting with them.’
‘Is she cheerful? Is she laughing?’
‘No, I think she’s not laughing much. She’s sitting quite
dull. She’s combing the young gentleman’s hair.’
‘The Pole — the officer?’
‘He’s not young, and he’s not an officer, either. Not him,
sir. It’s the young gentleman that’s Mr. Miusov’s relation.
I’ve forgotten his name.’