I will not describe all Doútlof’s proceedings that morning. I will only say that he was specially lucky. The man to whom Egór Miháylovitch had given him a note had a volunteer quite ready, who had already spent twenty-three roubles, and had already been passed by the Court. His master wanted four hundred roubles for him, and a buyer in the town had for the last three weeks been offering him three hundred. Doútlof settled the matter in a couple of words.

“Will you take three and a quarter hundred?” he said, holding out his hand, but with a look that showed that he was prepared to give more. The master held back his hand, and went on asking four hundred.

“You won’t take a quarter?” Doútlof said, catching hold with his left hand of the man’s right, and preparing to smack it with his own right hand. “You won’t take it? Well, Heaven help you!” he said suddenly, smacking the master’s hand with the full swing of his other arm, and turning away with his whole body.