A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES
'Broken-winded? . . . God forbid!'
'Yes, and he's lame too, and vicious besides.'
'Lame! I know nothing about it: your coachman must have ill-treated him somehow. . . . But before God, I '
'Look here, Anastasei Ivanitch, as things stand, you ought to take him back.'
'No, my good sir, don't put yourself in a passion; once gone out of the yard, is done with. You should have looked before, sir.'
I understood what that meant, accepted my fate, laughed, and walked off. Luckily, I had not paid very dear for the lesson.
Two days later I left, and in a week I was again at Lebedyan on my way home again. In the café I found almost the same persons, and again I came upon Prince N at billiards. But the usual change in the fortunes of Mr. Hlopakov had taken place in this interval: the fair-haired young officer had supplanted him in the prince's favours. The poor ex-lieutenant once more tried letting off his catchword in my presence, on the chance it might succeed as before; but, far from smiling, the prince positively scowled and shrugged his shoulders. Mr. Hlopakov looked downcast, shrank into a corner, and began furtively filling himself a pipe. . . .
END OF VOL. I.
