Notwithstanding all his economy and closeness, his life was full of troubles. Epidemic diseases ravaged his fowl-house, his numerous rooms stood unlet for long periods; his boarders grumbled at their bad food and refused to pay. The consequence of this was that, three or four times a year, Siégerscht--tall, thin, and unshaven, with cheerless countenance and a forehead dripping with cold sweat--might be seen on his way to the town to borrow some small sum. And all recognized the low, regimental cap that resembled a pancake, always with its peak askew, as well as the antiquated cloak, modelled on those worn in the time of the Emperor Nicholas, which waved in the breeze like a couple of huge wings. A light was burning in Siégerscht's flat, and as Romashov approached the window, he saw him sitting by a round table under a hanging-lamp. The bald head, with its gentle, worn features, was bent low over a little piece of red cloth which was probably destined to form an integral part of a Little Russian _roubashka_.[6] Romashov went up and tapped at the window. Siégerscht started up, laid aside his work, rose from the table, and went up to the window. "It is I, Adam Ivanich--open the window a moment." Siégerscht opened a little pane and looked out. "Well, it's you, Sub-Lieutenant Romashov. What's up?" "Is Nasanski at home?" "Of course he's at home--where else should he be? Ah! your friend Nasanski cheats me nicely, I can tell you. For two months I have kept him in food, but, as for his paying for it, as yet I've only had grand promises. When he moved here, I asked him most particularly that, to avoid unpleasantness and misunderstandings, he should----" "Yes, yes, we know all about that," interrupted Romashov; "but tell me now how he is. Will he see me?" "Yes, certainly, that he will; he does nothing but walk up and down his room." Siégerscht stopped and listened for a second. "You yourself can hear him tramping about. You see, I said to him, 'To prevent unpleasantness and misunderstandings, it will be best for----'" "Excuse me, Adam Ivanich; but we'll talk of that another time. I'm in a bit of a hurry," said Romashov, interrupting him for the second time, and meanwhile continuing his way round the corner. A light was burning in one of Nasanski's windows; the other was wide open. Nasanski himself was walking, in his shirt sleeves and without a collar, backwards and forwards with rapid steps. Romashov crept nearer the wall and called him by name. "Who's there?" asked Nasanski in a careless tone, leaning out of the window. "Oh, it's you, Georgie Alexievich. Come in through the window. It's a long and dark way round through that door. Hold out your hand and I'll help you."