“ Quartier, quartier, logement! ” said the officer, looking down at the little man with a condescending and good-natured smile. “ Les français sont de bons enfants. Que diable! Voyons! Ne nous fâchons pas, mon vieux! ” 106 added he, clapping the scared and silent Gerásim on the shoulder. “Well, does no one speak French in this establishment?” he asked again in French, looking around and meeting Pierre’s eyes. Pierre moved away from the door.

Again the officer turned to Gerásim and asked him to show him the rooms in the house.

“Master, not here⁠—don’t understand⁠ ⁠… me, you⁠ ⁠…” said Gerásim, trying to render his words more comprehensible by contorting them.