Polikéy, in the twinkling of an eye, rolled twice over and hid in the farthest corner of the top of the oven, so quickly that he scared all the cockroaches there. The Elder threw down his spoon and rushed toward Elijah. Doútlof untied his girdle, and shaking his head and making a clicking noise with his tongue, approached Elijah, who was already struggling with the Elder and the porter, who were keeping him away from the window. They had caught his arms and seemed to be holding him fast; but as soon as he saw his uncle and the girdle, his strength increased tenfold and he tore himself away, and with rolling eyes and clenched fists stepped up to Doútlof.
“I’ll kill you! Keep away, barbarian! … You have ruined me, you and your brigands of sons, you’ve ruined me! … Why did they marry me? … Keep away! I’ll kill you! …”
Elijah was terrible. His face was purple, his eyes rolled, the whole of his young, healthy body trembled as in a fever. He seemed to wish and to be able to kill all the three men who were facing him.
“You’re drinking your brother’s blood, you bloodsucker!”
Something flashed across Doútlof’s ever-placid face. He took a step forward.
“You won’t take it peaceably!” said he suddenly. The wonder was, where he got the energy; for with a quick motion he caught hold of his nephew, fell to the ground with him, and, with the aid of the Elder, began binding his hands with the girdle. They struggled for about five minutes. At last, with the help of the peasants, Doútlof rose, pulling his coat out of Elijah’s clutch. Then he raised Elijah, whose hands were bound behind his back, and made him sit down in a corner on a bench.
“I told you it would be the worse for you,” he said, still out of breath with the struggle, and pulling straight the narrow girdle tied over his shirt.