They were silent. Suddenly up sprang Abdul, brought a little box, took out a pen, ink, and a bit of paper, gave them to Zhílin, slapped him on the shoulder, and made a sign that he should write. He had agreed to take five hundred roubles.

“Wait a bit!” said Zhílin to the interpreter; “tell him that he must feed us properly, give us proper clothes and boots, and let us be together. It will be more cheerful for us. And he must have these shackles taken off our feet,” and Zhílin looked at his master and laughed.

The master also laughed, heard the interpreter, and said: “I will give them the best of clothes: a cloak and boots fit to be married in. I will feed them like princes; and if they like they can live together in the barn. But I can’t take off the shackles, or they will run away. They shall be taken off, however, at night.” And he jumped up and slapped Zhílin on the shoulder, exclaiming: “You good, I good!”

Zhílin wrote the letter, but addressed it wrongly, so that it should not reach its destination, thinking to himself: “I’ll run away!”