Zinaida looked sadly after the police sergeant. Coarse recollections of former days revived in her soul, now full of delicious soothings of a different, blessed existence created by Trirodov in the quiet coolness of the beloved wood. Then Zinaida sighed as if awakened from a midday nightmare. She went quietly her own way. In the course of several days Trirodov’s colony was visited by the Commissary of the police. He comprehended and considered the chaste world of the Prosianiya Meadows in the same way as the illiterate sergeant. Only this consideration expressed itself in a milder form. The Commissary of the police tried to be very amiable. He paid awkward compliments to Trirodov and his instructresses. But when he looked at the instructresses the Commissary smiled as detestably as the sergeant. His small, narrow eyes, which resembled those of a Kalmyk, became oily with pleasure. His cheeks became covered with a brick-red ruddiness. When the girls walked off to one side he gave a wink at Trirodov in their direction, and said in a _sotto voce_: “A flower garden, eh?” Trirodov looked severely at the Commissary, who became flustered and rather angry. He said: “I have come to you, I’m sorry to say, on unpleasant business.” Indeed, he came under the pretext of discussing the arrangements of Egorka’s position. Incidentally, he hinted that the illegal opening of Egorka’s grave might give cause to an official investigation. Trirodov gave the Commissary a bribe and treated him to lunch. The Commissary of the police left in high spirits. At last Trirodov had a visit from the Captain of the police. He had a gloomy, inaccessible look. He began quite bluntly about the illegal digging up of Egorka’s grave. Trirodov said: “Surely it was impossible to leave a live boy to suffocate in a grave.” The Captain replied in a rather austere voice: “You should have notified the Prior of the cemetery church of your suspicions. He would have done all there was to be done.” “But think how much time would have been lost in going after the priest,” said Trirodov. The Captain, without listening, replied: “It’s irregular. What would become of us if every one should take it into his head to open up graves! A chap might do it to steal something, and when he’s caught he might say that he’s heard the corpse was alive and turning in its grave.” “You know very well,” retorted Trirodov, “that we didn’t go there with the object of robbery.” But the Captain reiterated harshly and sternly: “It’s irregular.”