Book 1 Chapter 51 The Cells

Nekhludoff drove that day straight from Maslennikoff's to the
prison, and went to the inspector's lodging, which he now knew.
He was again struck by the sounds of the same piano of inferior
quality; but this time it was not a rhapsody that was being
played, but exercises by Clementi, again with the same vigour,
distinctness, and quickness. The servant with the bandaged eye
said the inspector was in, and showed Nekhludoff to a small
drawing-room, in which there stood a sofa and, in front of it, a
table, with a large lamp, which stood on a piece of crochet work,
and the paper shade of which was burnt on one side. The chief
inspector entered, with his usual sad and weary look.

"Take a seat, please. What is it you want?" he said, buttoning up
the middle button of his uniform.

"I have just been to the vice-governor's, and got this order from
him. I should like to see the prisoner Maslova."

"Markova?" asked the inspector, unable to bear distinctly because
of the music.

"Maslova!"

"Well, yes." The inspector got up and went to the door whence
proceeded Clementi's roulades.

"Mary, can't you stop just a minute?" he said, in a voice that
showed that this music was the bane of his life. "One can't hear
a word."

The piano was silent, but one could hear the sound of reluctant
steps, and some one looked in at the door.

The inspector seemed to feel eased by the interval of silence,
lit a thick cigarette of weak tobacco, and offered one to
Nekhludoff.