Choop, on recognising the blacksmith's voice, stepped a little aside. "No, surely this is not my cottage," said he to himself; "the blacksmith would not come to my cottage. And yet--now I look at it again, it cannot be his. Whose then, can it be? Ah! how came I not to know it at once! it is the cottage of lame Levchenko, who has lately married a young wife; his is the only one like mine. That is the reason why it seemed so strange to me that I got home so soon. But, let me see, why is the blacksmith here? Levchenko, as far as I know, is now sitting at the clerk's. Eh! he! he! he! the blacksmith comes to see his young wife! That's what it is! Well, now I see it all!" "Who art thou? and what hast thou to do lurking about this door?" asked the blacksmith, in a still harsher voice, and coming nearer. "No," thought Choop, "I'll not tell him who I am; he might beat me, the cursed fellow!" and then, changing his voice, answered, "My good man, I come here in order to amuse you, by singing carols beneath your window." "Go to the devil with thy carols!" angrily cried Vakoola. "What dost thou wait for? didst thou hear me? be gone, directly." Choop himself had already the same prudent intention; but he felt cross at being obliged to obey the blacksmith's command. Some evil spirit seemed to prompt him to say something contrary to Vakoola. "What makes thee shout in that way?" asked he in the same assumed voice; "my intention is to sing a carol, and that is all." "Ah! words are not sufficient for thee!" and immediately after, Choop felt a heavy stroke fall upon his shoulders. "Now, I see, thou art getting quarrelsome!" said he, retreating a few paces. "Begone, begone!" exclaimed the blacksmith, striking again. "What now!" exclaimed Choop, in a voice which expressed at the same time pain, anger, and fear. "I see thou quarrelest in good earnest, and strikest hard." "Begone, begone!" again exclaimed the blacksmith, and violently shut the door. "Look, what a bully!" said Choop, once more alone in the street. "But thou hadst better not come near me! There's a man for you! giving thyself such airs, too! Dost thou think there is no one to bring thee to reason? I _will_ go, my dear fellow, and to the police-officer will I go. I'll teach thee who I am! I care not for thy being blacksmith and painter. However, I must see to my back and shoulders: I think there are bruises on them. The devil's son strikes hard, it seems. It is a pity it's so cold, I cannot take off my fur coat. Stay a while, confounded blacksmith; may the devil break thy bones and thy smithy too! Take thy time--I will make thee dance, cursed squabbler! But, now I think of it, if he is not at home, Solokha must be alone. Hem! her dwelling is not far from here; shall I go? At this time nobody will trouble us. Perhaps I may. Ah! that cursed blacksmith, how he has beaten me!"