He was
afraid to go in at the gate for fear of meeting Gerasim.
His anxiety was unnecessary, however; Gerasim was no longer in the yard.
On coming out of the house he had at once missed Mumu. He never
remembered her failing to wait for his return, and began running up and
down, looking for her, and calling her in his own way. . . . He rushed up
to his garret, up to the hay-loft, ran out into the street, this way and
that. . . . She was lost! He turned to the other serfs, with the most
despairing signs, questioned them about her, pointing to her height from
the ground, describing her with his hands. . . . Some of them really did
not know what had become of Mumu, and merely shook their heads; others did
know, and smiled to him for all response; while the steward assumed an
important air, and began scolding the coachmen. Then Gerasim ran right
away out of the yard.
It was dark by the time he came back. From his worn-out look, his
unsteady walk, and his dusty clothes, it might be surmised that he had
been running over half Moscow. He stood still opposite the windows of
the mistress's house, took a searching look at the steps where a group
of house-serfs were crowded together, turned away, and uttered once more
his inarticulate "Mumu.
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