I...

she's...

she's..." faltered Lebyadkin in a voice shaking with excitement.
"Well ?" Shatov put his ear to the door.
A silence followed, lasting at least half a minute.
"Sc-ou-oundrel!" came from the other side of the door at last, and the captain hurriedly beat a retreat downstairs, puffing like a samovar, stumbling on every step.
"Yes, he's a sly one, and won't give himself away even when he's drunk." Shatov moved away from the door.
"What's it all about ?" I asked.
Shatov waved aside the question, opened the door and began listening on the stairs again.

He listened a long while, and even stealthily descended a few steps.

At last he came back.
"There's nothing to be heard; he isn't beating her; he must have flopped down at once to go to sleep.