eleven o'clock
Olga Dmitrievna , too , had small predatory-looking features , but more expressive and bolder than her mother 's ; she was not a weasel , but a beast on a bigger scale ! And Nikolay Yevgrafitch himself in the photograph looked such a guileless soul , such a kindly , good fellow , so open and simple-hearted ; his whole face was relaxed in the naïve , good-natured smile of a divinity student , and he had had the simplicity to believe that that company of beasts of prey into which destiny had chanced to thrust him would give him romance and happiness and all he had dreamed of when as a student he used to sing the song `` Youth is wasted , life is nought , when the heart is cold and loveless . '' And once more he asked himself in perplexity how he , the son of a village priest , with his democratic bringing up -- a plain , blunt , straightforward man -- could have so helplessly surrendered to the power of this worthless , false , vulgar , petty creature , whose nature was so utterly alien to him . When at eleven o'clock he put on his coat to go to the hospital the servant came into his study . `` What is it ? '' he asked . `` The mistress has got up and asks you for the twenty-five roubles you promised her yesterday . ''