Next morning the lady woke up rather late. Gavrila was waiting till she
should be awake, to give the order for a final assault on Gerasim's
stronghold, while he prepared himself to face a fearful storm. But the
storm did not come off. The old lady lay in bed and sent for the eldest
of her dependent companions.

"Liubov Liubimovna," she began in a subdued weak voice--she was fond of
playing the part of an oppressed and forsaken victim; needless to say,
every one in the house was made extremely uncomfortable at such times--
"Liubov Liubimovna, you see my position; go, my love, to Gavrila
Andreitch, and talk to him a little. Can he really prize some wretched
cur above the repose--the very life--of his mistress? I could not bear
to think so," she added, with an expression of deep feeling. "Go, my
love; be so good as to go to Gavrila Andreitch for me."

Liubov Liubimovna went to Gavrila's room. What conversation passed
between them is not known, but a short time after, a whole crowd of
people was moving across the yard in the direction of Gerasim's garret.
Gavrila walked in front, holding his cap on with his hand, though there
was no wind. The footmen and cooks were close behind him; Uncle Tail was
looking out of a window, giving instructions, that is to say, simply
waving his hands. At the rear there was a crowd of small boys skipping
and hopping along; half of them were outsiders who had run up. On the
narrow staircase leading to the garret sat one guard; at the door were
standing two more with sticks. They began to mount the stairs, which
they entirely blocked up. Gavrila went up to the door, knocked with his
fist, shouting, "Open the door!"

A stifled bark was audible, but there was no answer.