I felt it was
necessary
to change the subject of the interview, which
might end in a very disagreeable manner for me.
might end in a very disagreeable manner for me.
Pushkin - Daughter of the Commandant
Have you not
enough blood on your conscience? "
"But are you a saint yourself? " retorted Beloborodoff. "Wherefore, then,
this pity? "
"Without doubt," replied Khlopusha, "I am also a sinner, and this hand"
(he closed his bony fist, and turning back his sleeve displayed his
hairy arm), "and this hand is guilty of having shed Christian blood. But
_I_ killed my enemy, and not my host, on the free highway and in the
dark wood, but not in the house, and behind the stove with axe and club,
neither with old women's gossip. "
The old man averted his head, and muttered between his teeth--
"Branded! "
"What are you muttering there, old owl? " rejoined Khlopusha. "I'll brand
you! Wait a bit, your turn will come. By heaven, I hope some day you may
smell the hot pincers, and till then have a care that I do not tear out
your ugly beard. "
"Gentlemen," said Pugatchef, with dignity, "stop quarrelling. It would
not be a great misfortune if all the mangy curs of Orenburg dangled
their legs beneath the same cross-bar, but it would be a pity if our
good dogs took to biting each other. "
Khlopusha and Beloborodoff said nothing, and exchanged black looks.
I felt it was necessary to change the subject of the interview, which
might end in a very disagreeable manner for me. Turning toward
Pugatchef, I said to him, smiling--
"Ah! I had forgotten to thank you for your horse and '_touloup_. ' Had it
not been for you, I should never have reached the town, for I should
have died of cold on the journey. "
My stratagem succeeded. Pugatchef became good-humoured.
"The beauty of a debt is the payment! " said he, with his usual wink.
"Now, tell me the whole story. What have you to do with this young girl
whom Chvabrine is persecuting? Has she not hooked your young
affections, eh? "
"She is my betrothed," I replied, as I observed the favourable change
taking place in Pugatchef, and seeing no risk in telling him the truth.
"Your betrothed! " cried Pugatchef. "Why didn't you tell me before? We
will marry you, and have a fine junket at your wedding.
enough blood on your conscience? "
"But are you a saint yourself? " retorted Beloborodoff. "Wherefore, then,
this pity? "
"Without doubt," replied Khlopusha, "I am also a sinner, and this hand"
(he closed his bony fist, and turning back his sleeve displayed his
hairy arm), "and this hand is guilty of having shed Christian blood. But
_I_ killed my enemy, and not my host, on the free highway and in the
dark wood, but not in the house, and behind the stove with axe and club,
neither with old women's gossip. "
The old man averted his head, and muttered between his teeth--
"Branded! "
"What are you muttering there, old owl? " rejoined Khlopusha. "I'll brand
you! Wait a bit, your turn will come. By heaven, I hope some day you may
smell the hot pincers, and till then have a care that I do not tear out
your ugly beard. "
"Gentlemen," said Pugatchef, with dignity, "stop quarrelling. It would
not be a great misfortune if all the mangy curs of Orenburg dangled
their legs beneath the same cross-bar, but it would be a pity if our
good dogs took to biting each other. "
Khlopusha and Beloborodoff said nothing, and exchanged black looks.
I felt it was necessary to change the subject of the interview, which
might end in a very disagreeable manner for me. Turning toward
Pugatchef, I said to him, smiling--
"Ah! I had forgotten to thank you for your horse and '_touloup_. ' Had it
not been for you, I should never have reached the town, for I should
have died of cold on the journey. "
My stratagem succeeded. Pugatchef became good-humoured.
"The beauty of a debt is the payment! " said he, with his usual wink.
"Now, tell me the whole story. What have you to do with this young girl
whom Chvabrine is persecuting? Has she not hooked your young
affections, eh? "
"She is my betrothed," I replied, as I observed the favourable change
taking place in Pugatchef, and seeing no risk in telling him the truth.
"Your betrothed! " cried Pugatchef. "Why didn't you tell me before? We
will marry you, and have a fine junket at your wedding.
