‘As though I would presume to offer you a present,
mercy upon me!’ cried the Jew: ’you
buy it, your ex-shelency... and as to the little sum—I
can wait for it.’
Tchertop-hanov sank into thought.
‘What will you take for it?’ he muttered
at last between his teeth.
The Jew shrugged his shoulders.
‘What I paid for it myself. Two hundred
roubles.’
The horse was well worth twice—–perhaps
even three times that sum.
Tchertop-hanov turned away and yawned feverishly.
‘And the money... when?’ he asked, scowling
furiously and not looking at the Jew.
‘When your ex-shelency thinks fit.’
Tchertop-hanov flung his head back, but did not raise
his eyes. ’That’s no answer.
Speak plainly, son of Herod! Am I to be under
an obligation to you, hey?’
‘Well, let’s say, then,’ the Jew
hastened to add, ‘in six months’ time...
Do you agree?’
Tchertop-hanov made no reply.
The Jew tried to get a look at his face. ’Do
you agree? You permit him to be led to your stable?’
‘The saddle I don’t want,’ Tchertop-hanov
blurted out abruptly. ’Take the saddle—do
you hear?’
‘To be sure, to be sure, I will take it,’
faltered the delighted Jew, shouldering the saddle.
‘And the money,’ Tchertop-hanov pursued...
’in six months. And not two hundred, but
two hundred and fifty. Not a word! Two hundred
and fifty, I tell you! to my account.’
Tchertop-hanov still could not bring himself to raise
his eyes. Never had his pride been so cruelly
wounded.
‘It’s plain, it’s a present,’
was the thought in his mind; ’he’s brought
it out of gratitude, the devil!’ And he would
have liked to kiss the Jew, and he would have liked
to beat him.
‘Your ex-shelency,’ began the Jew, gaining
a little courage, and grinning all over his face,
’should, after the Russian fashion, take from
hand to hand....’
’What next? what an idea! A Hebrew... and
Russian customs! Hey! you there! Take the
horse; lead him to the stable. And give him some
oats. I’ll come myself and look after him.
And his name is to be—Malek-Adel!’
Tchertop-hanov turned to go up the steps, but turning
sharply back, and running up to the Jew, he pressed
his hand warmly. The latter was bending down
to kiss his hand, but Tchertop-hanov bounded back again,
and murmuring, ‘Tell no one!’ he vanished
through the door.
From that very day the chief interest, the chief occupation,
the chief pleasure in the life of Tchertop-hanov,
was Malek-Adel. He loved him as he had not loved
even Masha; he became more attached to him than even
to Nedopyuskin. And what a horse it was!
All fire—simply explosive as gunpowder—and
stately as a boyar! Untiring, enduring, obedient,
whatever you might put him to; and costing nothing
for his keep; he’d be ready to nibble at the
