From Maslenikoff, Nekhludoff went directly to the prison and
approached the familiar apartments of the inspector. The sounds of a
tuneless piano again assailed his ears, but this time it was not a
rhapsody that was played, but a study by Clementi, and, as before,
with unusual force, precision and rapidity. The servant with a
handkerchief around one eye said that the captain was in, and showed
Nekhludoff into the small reception-room, in which was a lounge, a
table and a lamp, one side of the rose-colored shade of which was
scorched, standing on a knitted woolen napkin. The inspector appeared
with an expression of sadness and torment on his face.

"Glad to see you. What can I do for you?" he said, buttoning up the
middle button of his uniform.

"I went to the vice-governor, and here is my pass," said Nekhludoff,
handing him the document. "I would like to see Maslova."

"Markova?" asked the inspector, who could not hear him on account of
the music.

"Maslova."

"O, yes! O, yes!"

The inspector rose and approached the door through which Clementi's
roulade was heard.

"Marusia; if you would only stop for a little while," he said in a