'Alexander Vassilitch?' the brigadier answered, after a brief silence, in which he seemed to be pulling his thoughts together; 'to be sure, I remember him; he was a little, brisk old man. Before one could stir a finger, he'd be here and there and everywhere (the brigadier chuckled). He rode into Warsaw on a Cossack horse; he was all in diamonds, and he says to the Poles: "I've no watch, I forgot it in Petersburg—no watch!" and they shouted and huzzaed for him. Queer chaps! Hey! Cucumber! lad!' he added suddenly, changing and raising his voice (the deacon-buffoon had remained standing at the door), 'where's the rolls, eh? And tell Grunka . . . to bring some kvas!'
'Directly, your honour,' I heard Cucumber's voice reply. He handed the brigadier the bundle of rolls, and, going out of the lodge, approached a dishevelled creature in rags—the half-witted girl, Grunka, I suppose—and as far as I could make out through the dusty little window, proceeded to demand kvas from her—at least, he several times raised one hand like a funnel to his mouth, and waved the other in our direction.
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