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 dining and taking rather too much of the Hungarian wine, Nikoláy—having exchanged kisses with the landowner, with whom he was already on the friendliest terms—galloped back over abominable roads, in the brightest frame of mind, continually urging on the driver so as to be in time for the governor’s party.
When he had changed, poured water over his head, and scented himself, Nikoláy