“So then what do you think, Vasíli Fëdorovich?” said he to Denísov. “It’s all right my staying a day with you?” And not waiting for a reply he answered his own question: “You see I was told to find out⁠—well, I am finding out.⁠ ⁠… Only do let me into the very⁠ ⁠… into the chief⁠ ⁠… I don’t want a reward.⁠ ⁠… But I want⁠ ⁠…”

Pétya clenched his teeth and looked around, throwing back his head and flourishing his arms.

“Into the vewy chief⁠ ⁠…” Denísov repeated with a smile.

“Only, please let me command something, so that I may really command⁠ ⁠…” Pétya went on. “What would it be to you?⁠ ⁠… Oh, you want a knife?” he said, turning to an officer who wished to cut himself a piece of mutton.

And he handed him his clasp knife. The officer admired it.