her himself, the ends of the reins crushed up in his fists. But when his seventieth year came, the old man let everything go, and handed over the management of the estate to the bailiff Antip, of whom he was secretly afraid, and whom he called Micromegas (a reminiscence of Voltaire!), or simply, plunderer. 'Well, plunderer, what have you to say? Have you stacked a great deal in the barn?' he would ask with a smile, looking straight into the plunderer's eyes. 'All, by your good favour, please your honour,' Antip would respond cheerfully. 'Favour's all very well, only you mind what I say, Micromegas! don't you dare touch the peasants, my subjects, out of my sight! If they come to complain . . . I've a cane, you see, not far off!' 'Your cane, your honour, Alexey Sergeitch, I always keep well in mind,' Antip Micromegas would respond, stroking his beard. 'All right, don't forget it.' And the master and the bailiff would laugh in each other's faces. With the servants, and with the serfs in general, his 'subjects' (Alexey Sergeitch liked that word) he was gentle in his behaviour. 'Because, think a little, nephew; nothing of their own, but the cross on their neck—and that copper—and daren't hanker after other people's goods . . . how can one expect sense of them?' It is needless to state that of the so-called 'serf question' no one even dreamed in those days; it could not
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