But opening his umbrella the latter went without a word into the damp and sodden garden, which was dark as a cellar.
The wind was roaring and tossing the bare tree-tops. The little sandy paths were wet and slippery.
Alexey Yegorytch walked along as he was, bareheaded, in his swallow-tail coat, lighting up the path for about three steps before them with the lantern.
"Won't it be noticed?" Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked suddenly.
"Not from the windows. Besides I have seen to all that already," the old servant answered in quiet and measured tones.
"Has my mother retired?"
"Her excellency locked herself in at nine o'clock as she has done the last few days, and there is no possibility of her knowing anything.
At what hour am I to expect your honour?"
"At one or half-past, not later than two."
"Yes, sir."
Crossing the garden by the winding paths that they both knew by heart, they reached the stone wall, and there in the farthest corner found a little door, which led out into a narrow and deserted lane, and was always kept locked. It appeared that Alexey Yegorytch had the key in his hand.
"Won't the door creak?" Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch inquired again.
But Alexey Yegorytch informed him that it had been oiled yesterday "as well as to-day."
He was by now wet through.
Unlocking the door he gave the key to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch.
"If it should be your pleasure to be taking a distant walk, I would warn your honour that I am not confident of the folk here, especially in the back lanes, and especially beyond the river," he could not resist warning him again.
He was an old servant, who had been like a nurse to Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, and at one time used to dandle him in his arms; he was a grave and severe man who was fond of listening to religious discourse and reading books of devotion.
"Don't be uneasy, Alexey Yegorytch."
"May God's blessing rest on you, sir, but only in your righteous undertakings."
"What?" said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, stopping short in the lane.
Alexey Yegorytch resolutely repeated his words. He had never before ventured to express himself in such language in his master's presence.
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and crossed the lane, sinking five or six inches into the mud at every step.
He came out at last into a long deserted street.
He knew the town like the five fingers of his hand, but Bogoyavlensky Street was a long way off.
It was past ten when he stopped at last before the locked gates of the dark old house that belonged to Filipov.
The ground floor had stood empty since the Lebyadkins had left it, and the windows were boarded up, but there was a light burning in Shatov's room on the second floor.
As there was no bell he began banging on the gate with his hand.
A window was opened and Shatov peeped out into the street. It was terribly dark, and difficult to make out anything. Shatov was peering out for some time, about a minute.
"Is that you?" he asked suddenly.
"Yes," replied the uninvited guest.
Shatov slammed the window, went downstairs and opened the gate.
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch stepped over the high sill, and without a word passed by him straight into Kirillov's lodge.
V
There everything was unlocked and all the doors stood open.
The passage and the first two rooms were dark, but there was a light shining in the last, in which Kirillov lived and drank tea, and laughter and strange cries came from it.
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went towards the light, but stood still in the doorway without going in.
There was tea on the table.
In the middle of the room stood the old woman who was a relation of the landlord. She was bareheaded and was dressed in a petticoat and a hare-skin jacket, and her stockingless feet were thrust into slippers.
In her arms she had an eighteen-months-old baby, with nothing on but its little shirt; with bare legs, flushed cheeks, and ruffled white hair. It had only just been taken out of the cradle.
It seemed to have just been crying; there were still tears in its eyes. But at that instant it was stretching out its little arms, clapping its hands, and laughing with a sob as little children do.
Kirillov was bouncing a big red india-rubber ball on the floor before it. The ball bounced up to the ceiling, and back to the floor, the baby shrieked
"Baw! baw!"
Kirillov caught the "baw", and gave it to it. The baby threw it itself with its awkward little hands, and Kirillov ran to pick it up again.
At last the "baw" rolled under the cupboard.
"Baw! baw!" cried the child.
Kirillov lay down on the floor, trying to reach the ball with his hand under the cupboard.
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went into the room. The baby caught sight of him, nestled against the old woman, and went off into a prolonged infantile wail. The woman immediately carried it out of the room.
"Stavrogin?" said Kirillov, beginning to get up from the floor with the ball in his hand, and showing no surprise at the unexpected visit.
"Will you have tea?"
He rose to his feet.