fellow, cleaned my boots and put them by mistake in your room. Be
so extremely kind, madam, as to give me my boots!"

There was a sound of rustling, of jumping off the bed and the
flapping of slippers, after which the door opened slightly and a
plump feminine hand flung at Murkin's feet a pair of boots. The
piano-tuner thanked her and went into his own room.

"Odd . . ." he muttered, putting on the boots, "it seems as though
this is not the right boot. Why, here are two left boots! Both are
for the left foot! I say, Semyon, these are not my boots! My boots
have red tags and no patches on them, and these are in holes and
have no tags."

Semyon picked up the boots, turned them over several times before
his eyes, and frowned.

"Those are Pavel Alexandritch's boots," he grumbled, squinting at
them. He squinted with the left eye.

"What Pavel Alexandritch?"

"The actor; he comes here every Tuesday. . . . He must have put on
yours instead of his own. . . . So I must have put both pairs in
her room, his and yours. Here's a go!"

"Then go and change them!"

"That's all right!" sniggered Semyon, "go and change them. . . .
Where am I to find him now? He went off an hour ago. . . . Go and