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Updated: May 2, 2025
Orlov was her father; in her birth certificate she was called Krasnovsky, and the only person who knew of her existence, and took interest in her that is, I was at death's door. I had to think about her seriously. The day after I arrived in Petersburg I went to see Orlov. The door was opened to me by a stout old fellow with red whiskers and no moustache, who looked like a German.
Wait a minute! . . . If she asks whether I have any one here, tell her that there have been two gentlemen here since eight o'clock, writing something." I drove to Znamensky Street. The porter told me that Mr. Krasnovsky had not yet come in, and I made my way up to the third storey.
"Damn them all!" he muttered. "They expect me to have an abnormal memory!" At last the letter was written; he got up from the table and said, turning to me: "Go to Znamensky Street and deliver this letter to Zinaida Fyodorovna Krasnovsky in person. But first ask the porter whether her husband that is, Mr. Krasnovsky has returned yet. If he has returned, don't deliver the letter, but come back.
Pekarsky knew a lady, he wrote, who kept a school, something like a kindergarten, where she took quite little children. The lady could be entirely depended upon, but before concluding anything with her it would be as well to discuss the matter with Krasnovsky it was a matter of form. He advised me to see Pekarsky at once and to take the birth certificate with me, if I had it.
"But, excuse me, I don't see what Krasnovsky has got to do with it," I said, also getting up and walking to a picture at the other end of the room. "But she bears his name, of course!" said Orlov. "Yes, he may be legally obliged to accept the child I don't know; but I came to you, Georgy Ivanitch, not to discuss the legal aspect." "Yes, yes, you are right," he agreed briskly.
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