“You begin young, Peter Grineff,” said the old men, shaking his head.  “Eh! from whom do you inherit it?  Neither your father nor grandfather were drunkards.  Your mother’s name can not be mentioned; she never deigned to taste any thing but cider.  Whose fault is it then?  That cursed Frenchman’s; he taught three fine things, that miserable dog—­ that pagan—­for thy teacher, as if his lordship, thy father, had not people of his own.”

I was ashamed before the old man; I turned my face away saying, “I do not want any tea, go away, Saveliitch.”  It was not easy to stop Saveliitch, once he began to preach.

“Now, Peter, you see what it is to play the fool.  You have a headache, you have no appetite, a drunkard is good for nothing.  Here, take some of this decoction of cucumber and honey, or half a glass of brandy to sober you.  What do you say to that?”

At that instant a boy entered the room with a note for me from Zourine.  I unfolded it and read as follows: 

“Do me the favor, my dear Peter, to send me by my servant the hundred roubles that you lost to me yesterday.  I am horribly in want of money.  Your devoted.  Zourine.”

As I was perfectly in his power, I assumed an air of indifference, and ordered Saveliitch to give a hundred roubles to the boy.

“What? why?” said the old man, surprised.

“I owe that sum,” said I, coolly.

“You owe it?  When had you time enough to contract such a debt?” said he, with redoubled astonishment.  “No, no, that’s impossible.  Do what you like, my lord, but I can not give the money.”

I reflected that if in this decisive moment I did not oblige the obstinate old fellow to obey me, it would be impossible in the future to escape from his tutelage.  Looking at him therefore, haughtily, I said, “I am thy master; thou art my servant.  The money is mine, and I lost because I chose to lose it; I advise thee to obey when ordered, and not assume the airs of a master.”

My words affected Saveliitch so much that he clasped his hands and stood bowed down mute and motionless.

“What are you doing there like a post?” I cried out, angrily.

Saveliitch was in tears.

“Oh! my dear master Peter,” stammered he, with trembling voice, “do not kill me with grief.  Oh my light, listen to me, an old man; write to that brigand that you were jesting, that we never had so much money.  A hundred roubles!  God of goodness!  Tell him thy parents strictly forbade thee to play for any thing but nuts.”

“Silence,” said I, with severity, “give the money or I’ll chase you out of the room.”

Saveliitch looked at me with agony, and went for the money.  I pitied the good old man, but I wanted to emancipate myself, and prove that I was no longer a child.  Saveliitch sent the money to Zourine, and then hastened our departure from that cursed inn.

I left Simbirsk with a troubled conscience; a secret remorse oppressed me.  I took no leave of my teacher, not dreaming that I should ever meet him again.