'What sort of horses is it you're wanting, my dear sir?' resumed Mr. Tchornobai. 'Not too expensive; for driving in my covered gig.' 'To be sure ... we have got them to suit you, to be sure.... Nazar, Nazar, show the gentleman the grey gelding, you know, that stands at the farthest corner, and the sorrel with the star, or else the other sorrel--foal of Beauty, you know.' Nazar went back to the stable. 'And bring them out by their halters just as they are,' Mr. Tchornobai shouted after him. 'You won't find things with me, my good sir,' he went on, with a clear mild gaze into my face, 'as they are with the horse-dealers; confound their tricks! There are drugs of all sorts go in there, salt and malted grains; God forgive them! But with me, you will see, sir, everything's above-board; no underhandedness.' The horses were led in; I did not care for them. 'Well, well, take them back, in God's name,' said Anastasei Ivanitch. 'Show us the others.' Others were shown. At last I picked out one, rather a cheap one. We began to haggle over the price. Mr. Tchornobai did not get excited; he spoke so reasonably, with such dignity, that I could not help 'honouring' the old man; I gave him the earnest-money. 'Well, now,' observed Anastasei Ivanitch, 'allow me to give over the horse to you from hand to hand, after the old fashion.... You will thank me for him ... as sound as a nut, see ... fresh ... a true child of the steppes! Goes well in any harness.' He crossed himself, laid the skirt of his coat over his hand, took the halter, and handed me the horse. 'You're his master now, with God's blessing.... And you still won't take a cup of tea?' 'No, I thank you heartily; it's time I was going home.' 'That's as you think best.... And shall my coachman lead the horse after you?' 'Yes, now, if you please.' 'By all means, my dear sir, by all means.... Vassily, hey, Vassily! step along with the gentleman, lead the horse, and take the money for him. Well, good-bye, my good sir; God bless you.' 'Good-bye, Anastasei Ivanitch.' They led the horse home for me. The next day he turned out to be broken-winded and lame. I tried having him put in harness; the horse backed, and if one gave him a flick with the whip he jibbed, kicked, and positively lay down. I set off at once to Mr. Tchornobai's. I inquired: 'At home?' 'Yes.' 'What's the meaning of this?' said I; 'here you've sold me a broken-winded horse.' 'Broken-winded?... God forbid!' 'Yes, and he's lame too, and vicious besides.' 'Lame! I know nothing about it: your coachman must have ill-treated him somehow.... But before God, I--' 'Look here, Anastasei Ivanitch, as things stand, you ought to take him back.' 'No, my good sir, don't put yourself in a passion; once gone out of the yard, is done with. You should have looked before, sir.' I understood what that meant, accepted my fate, laughed, and walked off. Luckily, I had not paid very dear for the lesson.