And so, after leaving the economist on the landing, the bartender had gone up to the fifth floor and rung the bell of apartment No. 50.

The door was opened immediately, but the bartender shuddered, stumbled back, and did not go in immediately. An understandable reaction: the door had been opened by a girl wearing nothing but a white maid's cap and a coquettish lace apron. She did, however, have gold slippers on her feet. The girl's figure was superb, and the only thing wrong with her otherwise flawless exterior was the purplish scar on her neck.

" Well, come in, since you rang! " said the girl, fixing her lecherous green eyes on the bartender.

Andrei Fokich gulped, blinked, and took off his hat as he stepped into the entrance hall. Just then the telephone in the entrance hall started to ring. The shameless maid put one leg up on a chair, picked up the receiver and said, " Hello! "

The Master and Margarita

Not knowing where to put his eyes, the bartender shifted from one foot to the other and thought, That's some maid the foreigner's got! Phew! What filth! " And to save himself from such filth, he looked off to the side.

The entire large, semidark entrance hall was crammed with unusual objects and articles of clothing. A funereal cape with a fiery-red lining was slung over the back of a chair, and on the table under the mirror there was a long sword with a shiny gold hilt. Standing in the corner as nonchalantly as canes or umbrellas, were three swords with silver hilts. And hanging on deer antlers were berets with eagle feathers.

" Yes, " the maid was saying into the phone, " Who is it? Baron Maigel? Hullo. Yes! The artiste is at home today. Yes, he'll be happy to see you. Yes, there'll be guests... Tails or a black dinner jacket What? Before midnight." After finishing her conversation, the maid put back the receiver and turned to the bartender, " What can I do for you? "

" I have to see the citizen artiste."

" Is that so? In person? "

" Yes, " answered the bartender sadly.

" I'll ask, " said the maid, evidently hesitating, and barely opening the door into the late Berlioz's study, she announced, " Sir, there's a little man out here who says he needs to see Messire."

" Show him in, " came Korovyov's cracked voice from the study.

" Go into the parlor, " the girl said simply, as if she were dressed like a normal person, and she opened the door to the parlor and left the entrance hall.

When he entered the room he had been invited into, the bartender was so struck by the furnishings that he forgot why he had come. Streaming through the large stained-glass windows (the whim of the jeweller's wife who had vanished without a trace) was an extraordinary light, similar to the light in a church. Wood was burning in the huge old-fashioned fireplace despite the hot spring day. Yet it was not the least bit hot in the room; in fact, quite the opposite. A cellarlike dampness enveloped the man entering the room. Sitting on a tiger skin in front of the fireplace was a huge black cat, squinting contentedly at the fire. There was a table that made the God-fearing bartender shudder when he saw it: the table was covered with a brocaded altar cloth. On the altar cloth numerous bottles were arranged—potbellied, dusty, and moldy. Amidst the bottles a plate gleamed, and it was immediately obvious that the plate was made of pure gold. By the fireplace a short redheaded man with a knife in his belt was roasting pieces of meat skewered on a long steel sword, 2nd the juice from the meat dripped in the fire, and the smoke went up the chimney. It smelled not only of roast meat, but of very strong perfume and incense, which made the bartender, who had learned of Berlioz's death and his place of residence from the newspapers, wonder if they weren't performing some

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