hildren are squalling, thou
knowest thyself how it is. It's hard on a man, that it is."

"All the same, don't go a-thieving."

"My horse," continued the peasant, "there's my horse, take it
if you choose ... it's my only beast ... let me go!"

"Impossible, I tell thee. I also am a subordinate, I shall be
held responsible. And it isn't right, either, to connive at thy
deed."

"Let me go! Poverty, Foma Kuzmitch, poverty, that's what it is
... let me go!"

"I know thee!"

"But let me go!"

"Eh, what's the use of arguing with you; sit still or I'll give
it to you, don't you know? Don't you see the gentleman?"

The poor fellow dropped his eyes.... The Wolf yawned, and laid
his head on the table. The rain had not stopped. I waited to
see what would happen.

The peasant suddenly straightened himself up. His eyes began to
blaze, and the color flew to his face. "Well, go ahead, devour!
Go ahead, oppress! Go ahead," he began, screwing up his eyes,
and dropping the corners of his lips, "go ahead, accursed
murderer of the soul, drink Christian blood, drink!"

The forester turned round.

"I'm talking to thee, to thee, Asiatic blood-drinker, to thee!"

"Art thou drunk, that thou hast taken it into thy head to
curse!" said the forester with amazement. "Hast thou gone
crazy?"

"Drunk!... It wasn't on thy money, accursed soul-murderer, wild
beast, beast, beast!"

"Akh, thou ... I'll give it to thee!"

"What do I care? It's all one to me--I shall perish anyway;
where can I go without a horse? Kill me--it comes to the same
thing; whether with hunger or thus, it makes no difference.
Deuce take them all: wife, children--let them all perish....
But just wait, thou shalt hear from us!"

The Wolf half-rose to his feet.

"Kill, kill----" the peasant began again in a savage voice;
"Kill, go ahead, kill...." (The little girl sprang up from the
floor, and riveted her eyes on him.) "Kill, kill!"

"Hold thy tongue!" thundered the forester, and advanced a
couple of strides.

"Enough, that will do, Foma," I shouted--"let him alone....
Don't bother with him...."

"I won't hold my tongue," went on the unfortunate man. "It
makes no difference how he murders me. Thou soul-murderer, thou
wild beast, hanging i