The commander of the militia was a civilian general, an old man who was evidently pleased with his military designation and rank. He received Nikoláy brusquely (imagining this to be characteristically military) and questioned him with an important air, as if considering the general progress of affairs and approving and disapproving with full right to do so. Nikoláy was in such good spirits that this merely amused him.
From the commander of the militia he drove to the governor. The governor was a brisk little man, very simple and affable. He indicated the stud farms at which Nikoláy might procure horses, recommended to him a horse dealer in the town and a landowner fourteen miles out of town who had the best horses, and promised to assist him in every way.
“You are Count Ilyá Andréevich’s son? My wife was a great friend of your mother’s. We are at home on Thursdays—today is Thursday, so please come and see us quite informally,” said the governor, taking leave of him.
Immediately on leaving the governor’s, Nikoláy hired post horses and, taking his squadron quartermaster with him, drove at a gallop to the landowner, fourteen miles away, who had the stud. Everything seemed to him pleasant and easy during that first part of his stay in Vorónezh and, as usually happens when a man is in a pleasant state of mind, everything went well and easily.
The landowner to whom Nikoláy went was a bachelor, an old cavalryman, a horse fancier, a sportsman, the possessor of some century-old brandy and some old Hungarian wine, who had a snuggery where he smoked, and who owned some splendid horses.
In very few words Nikoláy bought seventeen picked stallions for six thousand rubles—to serve, as he said, as samples of his remounts. After