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‘Yes, sir,’ answered the old man.

And all three started off to the house together. The money-lender knew the man he had to deal with. At the first start Misha, it is true, exacted a promise from him to ‘grant all sorts of immunities’ to the peasants; but an hour later, this same Misha, together with Timofay, both drunk, were dancing a galop in the big apartments, which still seemed pervaded by the God-fearing shade of Andrei Nikolaevitch; and an hour later still, Misha in a dead sleep (he had a very weak head for spirits), laid in a cart with his high cap and dagger, was being driven off to the town, more than twenty miles away, and there was flung under a hedge…. As for Timofay, who could still keep on his legs, and only hiccupped–him, of course, they kicked out of the house; since they couldn’t get at the master, they had to be content with the old servant.

VI

Some time passed again, and I heard nothing of Misha…. God knows what he was doing. But one day, as I sat over the samovar at a posting-station on the T—- highroad, waiting for horses, I suddenly heard under the open window of the station room a hoarse voice, uttering in French the words: ‘Monsieur … monsieur … prenez pitie d’un pauvre gentil-homme ruine.’ … I lifted my head, glanced…. The mangy-looking fur cap, the broken ornaments on the ragged Circassian dress, the dagger in the cracked sheath, the swollen, but still rosy face, the dishevelled, but still thick crop of hair…. Mercy on us! Misha! He had come then to begging alms on the high-roads. I could not help crying out. He recognised me, started, turned away, and was about to move away from the window. I stopped him … but what could I say to him? Give him a lecture? … In silence I held out a five-rouble note; he, also in silence, took it in his still white and plump, though shaking and dirty hand, and vanished round the corner of the house.

It was a good while before they gave me horses, and I had time to give myself up to gloomy reflections on my unexpected meeting with Misha; I felt ashamed of having let him go so unsympathetically.

At last I set off on my way, and half a mile from the station I observed ahead of me, in the road, a crowd of people moving along with a curious, as it seemed rhythmic, step. I overtook this crowd–and what did I see?

Some dozen or so beggars, with sacks over their shoulders, were walking two by two, singing and leaping about, while in front of them danced Misha, stamping time with his feet, and shouting, ‘Natchiki-tchikaldy, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk! … Natchiki-tchikaldy, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk!’ Directly my carriage caught them up, and he saw me, he began at once shouting, ‘Hurrah! Stand in position! right about face, guard of the roadside!’

The beggars took up his shout, and halted; while he, with his peculiar laugh, jumped on to the carriage step, and again yelled: Hurrah!

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ I asked with involuntary astonishment.

‘This? This is my company, my army–all beggars, God’s people, friends of my heart. Every one of them, thanks to you, has had a glass; and now we are all rejoicing and making merry! … Uncle! Do you know it’s only with beggars, God’s people, that one can live in the world … by God, it is!’

I made him no answer … but at that moment he struck me as such a kind good creature, his face expressed such childlike simple-heartedness…. A light seemed suddenly as it were to dawn upon me, and I felt a pang in my heart…. ‘Get into the carriage,’ I said to him. He was taken aback….

‘What? Into the carriage?’

‘Yes, get in, get in,’ I repeated; ‘I want to make you a suggestion. Sit down…. Come along with me.’