Alexander Rostov and the Bishop

Alexander Rostov and Bishop Leplevsky meet in a relationship of mutual suspicion conducted under the manners of hotel business. The Bishop has authority as an administrator at The Metropol; Rostov, alert to implication and unwilling to be treated as a fool, answers him with controlled courtesy and private indignation. Their encounters make politeness a form of contest: each man studies the other, while the Bishop’s official questions and Rostov’s wary interpretations leave the source and extent of their distrust in view without resolving it.

A Relationship of Watchfulness

The Bishop’s characteristic manner is indirect. He appears at the edge of a scene, moving diagonally through the hotel’s spaces rather than openly along its central routes. The narration likens his movements to those of a bishop on a chessboard: he skirts a potted plant or slips through a crack in a door, and may be seen only at the periphery of someone’s vision. This quality of concealment gives his presence a particular charge for Rostov. The Bishop is not simply an administrator who happens to be nearby; he is a figure who seems to observe from unexpected angles.

Their first exchange presents that watchfulness as reciprocal. The two men take one another in from heel to hair, each practiced, the narration says, at confirming his worst suspicions of the other. The Bishop leans slightly to his right and adopts an expression of idle curiosity. Rostov responds to the suggestion that something may be concealed behind his back by slowly bringing his hands forward and turning his palms upward to show they are empty. The Bishop’s smile briefly becomes a smirk; Rostov returns the expression and bows politely before turning away. The gesture answers the accusation without conceding its premise: Rostov offers visible proof of empty hands, but the matched smirks preserve the sense that neither man trusts the other’s performance.

Courtesy as Counterplay

The exchange does not end when Rostov begins to leave. The Bishop calls after him to ask whether he is headed to the Boyarsky Restaurant, and Rostov stops and turns back to confirm that he is. The question is ordinary on its face, but its placement follows the insinuation about what Rostov may have behind him. In this brief encounter, the Bishop tests; Rostov answers; and neither makes the underlying suspicion explicit. Their formal manners keep the conversation civil while also allowing each to register that he has noticed the other’s tactics.

A later meeting gives the same pattern a more official setting. At 1:30, Rostov sits across the desk from the Bishop in the hotel manager’s office. The summons has come while Rostov is at Piazza Café, and its messenger waits for him to finish his demitasse before leading him to the executive suite. Once Rostov arrives, however, the Bishop barely looks up from the papers he is signing. He indicates an empty chair with his pen, as if asking Rostov to wait. Rostov accepts it with a perfunctory bow. The repeated bow matters: it is outwardly deferential, but its perfunctory quality mirrors the Bishop’s treatment of his visitor. Rostov observes the formalities without mistaking them for warmth.

The Morning Disturbance

The subject of the meeting is an upheaval on the fourth-floor corridor at about a quarter to eight. The Bishop introduces it as an incident and, later, presents the hotel’s obligation to provide eminent statesmen and prominent artistes with comfort, service, and mornings free of mayhem. He says he will get to the bottom of what happened. The public-facing language establishes the managerial stakes, but Rostov hears a more personal implication underneath it.

The disturbance is not abstract to Rostov. Earlier that morning, after his usual exercises, coffee, biscuit, and fruit, he has bathed, shaved, dressed, kissed Sofia on the forehead, and left their bedroom intending to read the papers in his favorite lobby chair. He hears commotion while descending toward the main stair. At approximately 7:45, the fourth floor is in genuine upheaval: voices, a slammed door, a shattered plate, and persistent squawking. These details give the Bishop’s inquiry a concrete cause, while also explaining why Rostov resists any suggestion that Sofia should be drawn into it.

When Rostov asks whether the Bishop is suggesting that Emile had something to do with the incident, the Bishop ignores the question and resumes his place behind the desk. Instead, he restates the hotel’s standards and his intention to investigate. Rostov replies that no man is better suited to get to the bottom of it, then leaves with a muttered criticism of the Bishop’s childishness and his talk of mornings of mayhem. The exchange exposes the gap between official procedure and personal understanding: the Bishop frames the matter as an institutional concern, while Rostov presses toward the suspected individuals and notices that his own question has gone unanswered.

Sofia and the Unresolved Suspicion

Outside the office, Rostov interprets the Bishop’s implication as an attempt to suggest that Sofia was involved. The text presents this as Rostov’s reading of the encounter, not as a confession by the Bishop or proof of Sofia’s involvement. Rostov considers the possibility so unfounded and outrageous that he believes it does not deserve a response. His certainty is bound up with what he knows of Sofia’s ordinary habits: she is thirteen, has a playful streak, but is not a gadabout or ne’er-do-well. When Rostov returns from the manager’s office, she is in the lobby bent over a textbook, a familiar sight to the hotel staff.

Her routine strengthens his rebuttal. Sofia spends hours memorizing capitals, conjugating verbs, and solving for x or y; she also studies sewing with Marina and sauces with Emile. Rostov describes the impression she makes on those who know her as studious, shy, and well behaved. The contrast between this steady, visible pattern and the disorder of the fourth-floor incident clarifies why he refuses to entertain the insinuation. It also shows how the Bishop’s administrative scrutiny reaches into Rostov’s protective attachment to Sofia, turning an inquiry about hotel disorder into a personal affront.

The available encounters establish no reconciliation or definitive account of what the Bishop suspects. Instead, they leave the relationship suspended between formal authority and mutual wariness. The Bishop’s quiet appearances, pointed questions, and official explanations invite Rostov to look for what is being implied; Rostov’s bows, empty hands, sharp replies, and defense of Sofia show how he answers that pressure. Their conflict remains restrained in outward form, but the restraint is precisely what makes each gesture and omission count.