“Good people!” he shouted, addressing the whole ward in his frenzy. “Look at him! He keeps lying! Whatever he says, it’s nothing but lies, lies and lies!”

“But what is it to you,” cried the convicts wondering at his fury, “you ridiculous fellow?”

“I won’t let him tell lies!” cried Bulkin with flashing eyes, bringing his fist down on the bed with all his might. “I don’t want him to tell lies!”

Everyone laughed. Varlamov took the money, bowed to me and grimacing, hurried out of the ward, to the publican, of course. And then he seemed for the first time to become aware of Bulkin.

“Well, come along!” he said to him, stopping in the doorway, as though he were of some use to him. “You walking-stick!” he added as he contemptuously made way for the mortified Bulkin to pass out before him, and began twanging the balalaika again.