'Oh, rrakalion!' piped Hlopakov; 'Zhaymsah (_j'aime ça_.)' The prince laughed. Peacock was stopped with difficulty; he dragged the stable-boy about the yard; at last he was pushed against the wall. He snorted, started and reared, while Sitnikov still teased him, brandishing a whip at him. 'What are you looking at? there! oo!' said the horsedealer with caressing menace, unable to refrain from admiring his horse himself. 'How much?' asked the prince. 'For your excellency, five thousand.' 'Three.' 'Impossible, your excellency, upon my word.' 'I tell you three, rrakalion,' put in Hlopakov. I went away without staying to see the end of the bargaining. At the farthest corner of the street I noticed a large sheet of paper fixed on the gate of a little grey house. At the top there was a pen-and-ink sketch of a horse with a tail of the shape of a pipe and an endless neck, and below his hoofs were the following words, written in an old-fashioned hand: 'Here are for sale horses of various colours, brought to the Lebedyan fair from the celebrated steppes stud of Anastasei Ivanitch Tchornobai, landowner of Tambov. These horses are of excellent sort; broken in to perfection, and free from vice. Purchasers will kindly ask for Anastasei Ivanitch himself: should Anastasei Ivanitch be absent, then ask for Nazar Kubishkin, the coachman. Gentlemen about to purchase, kindly honour an old man.' I stopped. 'Come,' I thought, 'let's have a look at the horses of the celebrated steppes breeder, Mr. Tchornobai.' I was about to go in at the gate, but found that, contrary to the common usage, it was locked. I knocked. 'Who's there?... A customer?' whined a woman's voice. 'Yes.' 'Coming, sir, coming.' The gate was opened. I beheld a peasant-woman of fifty, bareheaded, in boots, and a sheepskin worn open. 'Please to come in, kind sir, and I'll go at once, and tell Anastasei Ivanitch ... Nazar, hey, Nazar!' 'What?' mumbled an old man's voice from the stable. 'Get a horse ready; here's a customer.' The old woman ran into the house. 'A customer, a customer,' Nazar grumbled in response; 'I've not washed all their tails yet.' 'Oh, Arcadia!' thought I. 'Good day, sir, pleased to see you,' I heard a rich, pleasant voice saying behind my back. I looked round; before me, in a long-skirted blue coat, stood an old man of medium height, with white hair, a friendly smile, and fine blue eyes. 'You want a little horse? By all means, my dear sir, by all means.... But won't you step in and drink just a cup of tea with me first?' I declined and thanked him. 'Well, well, as you please. You must excuse me, my dear sir; you see I'm old-fashioned.' (Mr. Tchornobai spoke with deliberation, and in a broad Doric.) 'Everything with me is done in a plain way, you know.... Nazar, hey, Nazar!' he added, not raising his voice, but prolonging each syllable. Nazar, a wrinkled old man with a little hawk nose and a wedge-shaped beard, showed himself at the stable door.