in the grave thyself, and wouldst cause others to perish. Hast thou not enough blood on thy conscience yet?"
"And thou, what kind of saint art thou? reiterated Byĕlobaródoff. "Where hast thou taken thy pity from?"
"Of course," answered Hlopousha, "I am also a sinner, and this hand "(here he clenched his bony hand, and turning up his sleeve showed his hairy arm) "also is guilty of having shed Christian blood. But I slew my enemy and not my guest; on the free highway and in the dark wood, and not at home, behind the stove; with the mace and the axe, and not with old women's tales."
The old man turned away and muttered the words: "Cut nostrils! . . . ."
"What is it thou art whispering there, old owl?" exclaimed Hlopousha. "Cut nostrils; mayest thou get them; thy turn is to come; please God thou also shalt have a smell at the tongs. . . . But till then, take care lest I pluck out thy ugly beard!"
"Generals!" said Pougatcheff with dignity: "leave off quarrelling. It would be no great misfortune if all the Orenburg curs were to dangle from the same cross-beam; but it would be a misfortune if our dogs were to eat each other up. There now, make it up."
Hlopousha and Byĕlobaródoff said not a word, and scowled at each other. I felt the absolute necessity for changing the conversation, which might have ended very disadvantageously, so far as I was concerned, and turning to Pougatcheff, I said cheerfully:—
"Ah! I was very nearly forgetting to thank thee for the horse and the touloup. But for thee I would never have
