At the moment one of the servants entered with Nekhludoff's card, the soul of Jeanne D'Arc was speaking through the saucer. The soul had already said, "They will recognize each other," which was duly entered on a sheet of paper. When the servant entered, the saucer, stopping first on the letter p, then on the letter o, reached the letter s and began to jerk one way and another. That was because, as the general thought, the next letter was to be l, that is to say, Jeanne D'Arc, according to his idea, intended to say that souls would recognize each other only after they had been purged of everything mundane, or something to that effect, and that therefore the next letter ought to be l (_posl, i. e._, after); the artist, on the other hand, thought that the next letter would be v; that the soul intended to say that souls would recognize each other by the light--_posv_ (_ietu_) that would issue from the ethereal body of the souls. The general, gloomily knitting his brow, gazed fixedly on the hands, and imagining that the saucer moved itself, pulled it toward the letter l. The young, anaemic artist, with his oily hair brushed behind his ears, looked into the dark corner of the room, with his blue, dull eyes, and nervously twitching his lips, pulled toward the letter v. The general frowned at the interruption, and, after a moment's silence, took the card, put on his pince-nez and, groaning from pain in his loins, rose to his full height, rubbing his benumbed fingers. "Show him into the cabinet." "Permit me, Your Excellency, to finish it myself," said the artist, rising. "I feel a presence." "Very well; finish it," said the general with austerity, and went, with firm, long strides, into the cabinet. "Glad to see you," said the general in a rough voice to Nekhludoff, pointing to an arm-chair near the desk. "How long have you been in St. Petersburg?" Nekhludoff said that he had but lately arrived. "Is your mother, the Princess, well?" "My mother is dead." "Beg pardon; I was very sorry. My son told me that he had met you." The general's son was making the same career as his father, and was very proud of the business with which he was entrusted. "Why, I served with your father. We were friends, comrades. Are you in service?" "No, I am not." The general disapprovingly shook his head. "I have a request to make of you, general," said Nekhludoff. "Very glad. What can I do for you?" "If my request be out of season, please forgive me. But I must state it." "What is it?" "There is a man, Gurkevitch, kept in prison under your jurisdiction. His mother asks to be permitted to visit him, or, at least to send him books."