At that instant, Kvitsinsky, with all his retinue--in three carts--appeared at the gates. The tired horses panted, the men jumped out, one after another, into the mud. ‘Aha!’ Harlov shouted at the top of his voice. ‘An army … here it comes, an army! A whole army they’re sending against me! Capital! Only I give warning--if any one comes up here to me on the roof, I’ll send him flying down, head over heels! I’m an inhospitable master; I don’t like visitors at wrong times! No indeed!’ He was hanging with both hands on to the front rafters of the roof, the so-called standards of the gable, and beginning to shake them violently. Balancing on the edge of the garret flooring, he dragged them, as it were, after him, chanting rhythmically like a bargeman, ‘One more pull! one more! o-oh!’ Sletkin ran up to Kvitsinsky and was beginning to whimper and pour out complaints.… The latter begged him ‘not to interfere,’ and proceeded to carry out the plan he had evolved. He took up his position in front of the house, and began, by way of diversion, to explain to Harlov that what he was about was unworthy of his rank.… ‘One more pull! one more!’ chanted Harlov. … ‘That Natalia Nikolaevna was greatly displeased at his proceedings, and had not expected it of him.…’ ‘One more pull! one more! o-oh!’ Harlov chanted … while, meantime, Kvitsinsky had despatched the four sturdiest and boldest of the stable-boys to the other side of the house to clamber up the roof from behind. Harlov, however, detected the plan of attack; he suddenly left the standards and ran quickly to the back part of the roof. His appearance was so alarming that the two stable-boys who had already got up to the garret, dropped instantly back again to the ground by the water-pipe, to the great glee of the serf boys, who positively roared with laughter. Harlov shook his fist after them and, going back to the front part of the house, again clutched at the standards and began once more loosening them, singing again, like a bargeman. Suddenly he stopped, stared.… ‘Maximushka, my dear! my friend!’ he cried; ‘is it you?’ I looked round.… There, actually, was Maximka, stepping out from the crowd of peasants. Grinning and showing his teeth, he walked forward. His master, the tailor, had probably let him come home for a holiday. ‘Climb up to me, Maximushka, my faithful servant,’ Harlov went on; ‘together let us rid ourselves of evil Tartar folk, of Lithuanian thieves!’ Maximka, still grinning, promptly began climbing up the roof.… But they seized him and pulled him back--goodness knows why; possibly as an example to the rest; he could hardly have been much aid to Martin Petrovitch. ‘Oh, all right! Good!’ Harlov pronounced, in a voice of menace, and again he took hold of the standards.