ormities of which I had been
guilty.

I let her go on till her rage was somewhat exhausted, and then, having
thrown her divining apparatus into the fire, I looked at her in pity and
anger, and said that we must part the next day, as she had narrowly
escaped killing me. I confessed that I had been with Bomback, and that
there had been a girl in the house; but I denied all the other sins of
which she accused me. I then went to sleep without taking the slightest
notice of her, in spite of all she said and did to prove her repentance.

I woke after a few hours to find her sleeping soundly, and I began to
consider how I could best rid myself of the girl, who would probably kill
me if we continued living together. Whilst I was absorbed in these
thoughts she awoke, and falling at my feet wept and professed her utter
repentance, and promised never to touch another card as long as I kept
her.

At last I could resist her entreaties no longer, so I took her in my arms
and forgave her; and we did not part till she had received undeniable
proofs of the return of my affection. I intended to start for Moscow in
three days, and she was delighted when she heard she was to go.

Three circumstances had won me this young girl's furious affection. In
the first place I often took her to see her family, with whom I always
left a rouble; in the second I made her eat with me; and in the third I
had beaten her three or four times when she had tried to prevent me going
out.

In Russia beating is a matter of necessity, for words have no force
whatever. A servant, mistress, or courtezan understands nothing but the
lash. Words are altogether thrown away, but a few good strokes are
entirely efficacious. The servant, whose soul is still more enslaved than
his body, reasons somewhat as follows, after he has had a beating:

"My master has not sent me away, but beaten me; therefore he loves me,
and I ought to be attached to him."

It is the same with the Russian soldier, and in fact with everybody.
Honour stands for nothing, but with the knout and brandy one can get
anything from them except heroical enthusiasm.

Papanelopulo laughed at me when I said that as I liked my Cossack I
should endeavour to correct him with words only when he took too much
brandy.

"If you do not beat him," he said, "he will end by beating you;" and he
spoke the truth.

One day, when he was so drunk as to be unable to attend on me, I began to
scold him, and threaten