LEBEDYAN
at the horses of the celebrated steppes breeder, Mr. Tchornobai.'
I was about to go in at the gate, but found that, contrary to the common usage, it was locked. I knocked.
'Who's there? . . . A customer?' whined a woman's voice.
'Yes.'
'Coming, sir, coming.'
The gate was opened. I beheld a peasant-woman of fifty, bareheaded, in boots, and a sheepskin worn open.
'Please to come in, kind sir, and I'll go at once, and tell Anastasei Ivanitch . . . Nazar, hey, Nazar!'
'What?' mumbled an old man's voice from the stable.
'Get a horse ready; here's a customer.'
The old woman ran into the house.
'A customer, a customer,' Nazar grumbled in response; 'I've not washed all their tails yet'
'Oh, Arcadia!' thought I.
'Good day, sir, pleased to see you,' I heard a rich, pleasant voice saying behind my back. I looked round; before me, in a long-skirted blue coat, stood an old man of medium height, with white hair, a friendly smile, and fine blue eyes.
'You want a little horse? By all means, my dear sir, by all means. . . . But won't you step in and drink just a cup of tea with me first?'
I declined and thanked him.
'Well, well, as you please. You must excuse
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