The stillness was broken by Marya Mihalovna herself. Standing at the window and gazing into the yard, she suddenly uttered a cry. She fancied that from the flower garden with the gaunt, clipped poplar, a dark figure was creeping towards the house. For the first minute she thought it was a cow or a horse, then, rubbing her eyes, she distinguished clearly the outlines of a man. Then she fancied the dark figure approached the window of the kitchen and, standing still a moment, apparently undecided, put one foot on the window ledge and disappeared into the darkness of the window. "A burglar!" flashed into her mind and a deathly pallor overspread her face. And in one instant her imagination had drawn the picture so dreaded by lady visitors in country places--a burglar creeps into the kitchen, from the kitchen into the dining-room . . . the silver in the cupboard . . . next into the bedroom . . . an axe . . . the face of a brigand . . . jewelry. . . . Her knees gave way under her and a shiver ran down her back. "Vassya!" she said, shaking her husband, "_Basile!_ Vassily Prokovitch! Ah! mercy on us, he might be dead! Wake up, _Basile_, I beseech you!" "W-well?" grunted the assistant procurator, with a deep inward breath and a munching sound. "For God's sake, wake up! A burglar has got into the kitchen! I was standing at the window looking out and someone got in at the window. He will get into the dining-room next . . . the spoons are in the cupboard! _Basile!_ They broke into Mavra Yegorovna's last year." "Wha--what's the matter?" "Heavens! he does not understand. Do listen, you stupid! I tell you I've just seen a man getting in at the kitchen window! Pelagea will be frightened and . . . and the silver is in the cupboard!" "Stuff and nonsense!" "_Basile_, this is unbearable! I tell you of a real danger and you sleep and grunt! What would you have? Would you have us robbed and murdered?" The assistant procurator slowly got up and sat on the bed, filling the air with loud yawns. "Goodness knows what creatures women are!" he muttered. "Can't leave one in peace even at night! To wake a man for such nonsense!" "But, _Basile_, I swear I saw a man getting in at the window!" "Well, what of it? Let him get in. . . . That's pretty sure to be Pelagea's sweetheart, the fireman." "What! what did you say?" "I say it's Pelagea's fireman come to see her." "Worse than ever!" shrieked Marya Mihalovna. "That's worse than a burglar! I won't put up with cynicism in my house!" "Hoity-toity! We are virtuous! . . . Won't put up with cynicism? As though it were cynicism! What's the use of firing off those foreign words? My dear girl, it's a thing that has happened ever since the world began, sanctified by tradition. What's a fireman for if not to make love to the cook?"