The official seated himself in his sledge and drove off, but suddenly called: "Dimitri Dimitrich!" "Yes." "You were right. The sturgeon was tainted." These banal words suddenly roused Gomov's indignation. They seemed to him degrading and impure. What barbarous customs and people! What preposterous nights, what dull, empty days! Furious card-playing, gourmandising, drinking, endless conversations about the same things, futile activities and conversations taking up the best part of the day and all the best of a man's forces, leaving only a stunted, wingless life, just rubbish; and to go away and escape was impossible--one might as well be in a lunatic asylum or in prison with hard labour. Gomov did not sleep that night, but lay burning with indignation, and then all next day he had a headache. And the following night he slept badly, sitting up in bed and thinking, or pacing from corner to corner of his room. His children bored him, the bank bored him, and he had no desire to go out or to speak to any one. In December when the holidays came he prepared to go on a journey and told his wife he was going to Petersburg to present a petition for a young friend of his--and went to S. Why? He did not know. He wanted to see Anna Sergueyevna, to talk to her, and if possible to arrange an assignation. He arrived at S. in the morning and occupied the best room in the hotel, where the whole floor was covered with a grey canvas, and on the table there stood an inkstand grey with dust, adorned with a horseman on a headless horse holding a net in his raised hand. The porter gave him the necessary information: von Didenitz; Old Goucharno Street, his own house--not far from the hotel; lives well, has his own horses, every one knows him. Gomov walked slowly to Old Goucharno Street and found the house. In front of it was a long, grey fence spiked with nails. "No getting over a fence like that," thought Gomov, glancing from the windows to the fence. He thought: "To-day is a holiday and her husband is probably at home. Besides it would be tactless to call and upset her. If he sent a note then it might fall into her husband's hands and spoil everything. It would be better to wait for an opportunity." And he kept on walking up and down the street, and round the fence, waiting for his opportunity. He saw a beggar go in at the gate and the dogs attack him. He heard a piano and the sounds came faintly to his ears. It must be Anna Sergueyevna playing. The door suddenly opened and out of it came an old woman, and after her ran the familiar white Pomeranian. Gomov wanted to call the dog, but his heart suddenly began to thump and in his agitation he could not remember the dog's name.