dark one, the red-haired one, and three guests. They were wearing their indoor slippers, and each had a cushion behind his back. Before them were standing millet cakes on a round board, melted butter in a bowl, and a jug of buza , or Tartar beer. They ate both cakes and butter with their hands.
The dark man jumped up and ordered Zhílin to be placed on one side, not on the carpet but on the bare ground, then he sat down on the carpet again, and offered millet cakes and buza to his guests. The servant made Zhílin sit down, after which he took off his own overshoes, put them by the door where the other shoes were standing, and sat down nearer to his masters on the felt, watching them as they ate, and licking his lips.
The Tartars ate as much as they wanted, and a woman dressed in the same way as the girl—in a long gown and trousers, with a kerchief on her head—came and took away what was left, and brought a handsome basin, and an ewer with a narrow spout. The Tartars washed their hands, folded them, went down on their knees, blew to the four quarters, and said their prayers. After they had talked for a while, one of the guests turned to Zhílin and began to speak in Russian.
“You were captured by Kazi-Mohammed,” he said, and pointed at the red-bearded Tartar. “And Kazi-Mohammed has given you to Abdul Murat,” pointing at the dark one. “Abdul Murat is now your master.”
Zhílin was silent. Then Abdul Murat began to talk, laughing, pointing to Zhílin, and repeating, “Soldier Russ, good Russ.”
The interpreter said, “He orders you to write home and tell them to send a ransom, and as soon as the money comes he will set you free.”
Zhílin thought for a moment, and said, “How much ransom does he want?”