He sat astride of his chair, and, thrusting out his lower lip, went on in a deep voice, "It happens you are riding along in front of the battalion. A devil is under you, not a horse, prancing along; thus you sit on this perfect devil. The battalion commander comes along. 'Lieutenant,' says he, 'I beg of you--your service is absolutely indispensable. You must lead the battalion for the parade.' Very well, and so it goes. You look around, you give a shout, you lead the brave fellows who are under your command. Ah! the deuce take it! 'twas a glorious time!" The count came back from the bath, all ruddy, and with his hair wet, and went directly to No. 7, where the cavalryman was already sitting in his dressing-gown, with his pipe, and thinking with delight and some little anxiety of the good fortune that had befallen him in sharing his room with the famous Turbin. "Well, now," the thought came into his head, "suppose he should take me, and strip me naked, and carry me outside the town limits, and set me down in the snow, ... or smear me with tar ... or simply ... But, no: he would not do such a thing to a comrade," he said, trying to comfort himself. "Sashka, give Blücher something to eat," cried the count. Sashka made his appearance. He had been drinking glasses of vodka ever since his arrival, and was beginning to be genuinely tipsy. "You have not been able to control yourself. You have been getting drunk, _canaillya_!... Feed Blücher." "It won't kill him to fast.... You see, ... he's so plump," replied Sashka, caressing the dog. "Now, none of your impudence. Go, and feed him." "All you care for is to have your dog fat; but if a man drinks a little glass, then you pitch into him." "Hey! I'll strike you," cried the count with a voice that made the window-panes rattle, and even scared the cavalryman somewhat. "You would better ask if _Sashka_ has had any thing to eat to-day. All right, strike away, if a dog is more to you than a man," continued Sashka. But at that instant he received such a violent blow of the fist across the face that he staggered, struck his head against the partition, and, clutching his nose, leaped through the door, and threw himself down on a bench in the corridor. "He has broken my teeth," he growled, wiping his bloody nose with one hand, and with the other scratching Blücher's back, as the dog licked him. "He has broken my teeth, Blüchka; and yet he is my count, and I would jump into the fire for him, that's a fact. Because he's my count, do you understand, Blüchka? And do you want something to eat?" After lying there a while, he got up, gave the dog his dinner, and, almost sobered, went to serve his master, and get him his tea.