An hour after all this hubbub the garret door opened， and Gerasim showed himself. He had on his best coat； he was leading Mumu by a string. All the small boys in the yard stared at him in silence.
He asked for cabbage soup with meat in the cookshop， and sat down with his arms on the table. Mumu stood beside his chair， looking calmly at him with her intelligent eyes. Her coat was glossy； one could see she had just been combed down. He crumbled some bread into it， cut the meat up small， and put the plate on the ground.
Mumu began eating in her usual refined way， her little muzzle daintily held so as scarcely to touch her food. Gerasim gazed a long while at her； two big tears suddenly rolled from his eyes； one fell on the dog' s brow， the other into the soup. He shaded his face with his hand.
Gerasim walked without haste， still holding Mumu by a string. On the half-way he carried away two bricks under his arm.
He turned along the bank， went to a place where there were two little rowing-boats fastened to stakes， and jumped into one of them with Mumu. Gerasim rowed on and on. Moscow was soon left behind.
He threw down his oars， bent his head down to Mumu， who was sitting facing him on a dry cross seat.
At last Gerasim drew himself up hurriedly， with a sort of sick anger in his face， he tied up the bricks he had taken with string， made a running noose， put it round Mumu' s neck， lifted her up over the river， and for the last time looked at her. She watched him confidingly and without any fear， faintly wagging her tail.
He turned away， frowned， and wrung his hands...
Gerasim heard nothing， neither the quick shrill whine of Mumu as she fell， nor the heavy splash of the water； for him the noisiest day was soundless and silent as even the stillest night is not silent to us.
When he opened his eyes again， little wavelets were hurrying over the river， chasing one another； as before they broke against the boat' s side， and only far away behind wide circles moved widening to the bank.