“Well, you didn’t have such lively times then,” said the host, taking advantage of the interruption. “I tell you that my first horses began to run without⁠ ⁠…”

“Your horses! Horses were more mettlesome then⁠ ⁠…”

“How more mettlesome?”

“Yes, more mettlesome. I remember how one time I was at Moscow at the races. None of my horses were in it. I did not care for racing; but I had blooded horses, General Chaulet, Muhammad. I had my piebald with me. My coachman was a splendid young fellow. I liked him. But he was rather given to drink, so I drove.⁠—‘Sierpukhovskoï,’ said they, ‘when are you going to get some trotters?’⁠—‘I don’t care for your lowbred beasts, 265 the devil take ’em! I have a hackdriver’s piebald that’s worth all of yours.’⁠—Yes, but he doesn’t race.’⁠—‘Bet you a thousand rubles.’ They took me up. He went round in five seconds, won the wager of a thousand rubles. But that was nothing. With my blooded horses I went in a troika a hundred versts in three hours. All Moscow knew about it.”