I spent a very dull and wearisome day. Tyeglev did not return to dinner nor to supper; I did not expect my brother. Towards evening a thick fog came on again, thicker even than the day before. I went to bed rather early. I was awakened by a knocking under the window.
It was my turn to be startled!
The knock was repeated and so insistently distinct that one could have no doubt of its reality. I got up, opened the window and saw Tyeglev. Wrapped in his great-coat, with his cap pulled over his eyes, he stood motionless.
“Ilya Stepanitch!” I cried, “is that you? I gave up expecting you. Come in. Is the door locked?”
Tyeglev shook his head. “I do not intend to come in,” he pronounced in a hollow tone. “I only want to ask you to give this letter to the commanding officer tomorrow.”
He gave me a big envelope sealed with five seals. I was astonished — however, I took the envelope mechanically. Tyeglev at once walked away into the middle of the road.
“Stop! stop!” I began. “Where are you going? Have you only just come? And what is the letter?”
“Do you promise to deliver it?” said Tyeglev, and moved away a few steps further. The fog blurred the outlines of his figure. “Do you promise?”
“I promise . . . but first —”
Tyeglev moved still further away and became a long dark blur. “Good-bye,” I heard his voice. “Farewell, Ridel, don’t remember evil against me. . . . And don’t forget Semyon. . . . ”
And the blur itself vanished.
This was too much. “Oh, the damned poseur,” I thought. “You must always be straining after effect!” I felt uneasy, however; an involuntary fear clutched at my heart. I flung on my great-coat and ran out into the road.