"Now, go lie down and sleep. I will wake you soon, and send you with a note to Dorimedont Lukin. Go!" She led him to the chest upon which he slept and felt the bedding with her hand. "Oh, what a hard bed you have!" When he had lain down, she seated herself beside him, and stroked his head and shoulders with her soft smooth hand, while she spoke in a gentle chant. "Give him the note. And if he asks you how it happened, tell him you don't know. Tell him you were asleep and didn't see anything." She was silent, and knit her brows. Overcome by exhaustion Yevsey, warmed by the woman's body and lulled by her even speech, began to drowse. "No," she continued, "that's not right." She gave her directions calmly and intelligently, and her caresses, warm and sweet, awakened memories of his mother. He felt good. He smiled. "Dorimedont Lukin is a spy, too," he heard her lulling, even voice. "Be on your guard. Be careful. If he gets it out of you, I'll say you knew everything and helped me. Then you'll be put in prison, too." Now she, too, smiled, and repeated, "In prison, and then hard labor. Do you understand?" "Yes," Yevsey answered happily, looking into her face with half-closed eyes. "You are falling asleep. Well, sleep." Happy and grateful he heard the words in his slumber. "Will you forget everything I told you? What a weak, thin little fellow you are! Sleep!" Yevsey fell asleep, but soon a stern voice awoke him. "Boy, get up! Quick! Boy!" He rose with a start of his whole body, and stretched out his hand. At his bed stood Dorimedont Lukin holding a cane. "Why are you sleeping? Your master died, yet you sleep." "He's tired. We didn't sleep the whole night," said Rayisa, who was looking in from the kitchen with her hat on and her umbrella in her hand. "Tired? On the day of your benefactor's death you must weep, not sleep. Dress yourself." The flat pimply face of the spy was stern. His words compelled Yevsey imperiously, like reins steering a docile horse. "Run to the police station. Here's a note. Don't lose it." In a half fainting condition Yevsey dressed himself wearily, and went out in the street. He forced his eyes open as he ran over the pavement bumping into everyone he met. "I wish he would be buried soon," he thought disconnectedly. "Dorimedont will frighten her, and she'll tell him everything. Then I'll go to prison, too. But if I am there with her, I won't be afraid. She went after him herself, she didn't send me, she was sorry to wake me up--or maybe she was afraid--how am I going to live now?" When he returned he found a black-bearded policeman and a grey old man in a long frock coat sitting in the room. Dorimedont was speaking to the policeman in a commanding voice. "Do you hear, Ivan Ivanovich, what the doctor says? So it was a cancer. Aha, there's the boy. Hey, boy, go fetch half a dozen bottles of beer. Quick!"