Simon hurried out. “The landlord,” says he, “wants to speak to you.”
Nekhliudof turned scarlet. He sprang up from the table.
“What’s the need of calling me?”
The landlord is standing at the door.
Says he, “I can’t trust you anymore, unless you settle my little bill.”
“Well, didn’t I tell you that I would pay the first of the month?”
“That will be all very well,” says the landlord, “but I can’t be all the time giving credit, and having no settlement. There are more than ten thousand rubles of debts outstanding now,” says he.
“Well, that’ll do, monshoor , you know that you can trust me! Send the bottle, and I assure you that I will pay you very soon.”
And he hurried back.
“What was it? Why did they call you out?” asked the hussar.
“Oh, someone wanted to ask me a question.”
“Now it would be a good time,” says the hussar, “to have a little warm wine to drink.”
“Simon, hurry up!”
Simon came back, but still no wine, nothing. Too bad! He left the table, and came to me.
“For God’s sake,” says he, “Petrushka, let me have six rubles!”
He was pale as a sheet. “No, sir,” says I: “by God, you owe me quite too much now.”