And when Stanislav pushed forward they seized him by the elbows. Again a quarrel began, in which Stanislav reviled them as outlaws. They jeered at him as a dandy, among themselves the term "dogbrother" was frequent. Yatsek was shocked at this, and added,-- "I have never seen cavaliers of this kind." And he put his sabre into the scabbard. "Choose, or I will go!" said he, with a loud voice, and firmly. "Choose, thou!" cried Stanislav, hoping that on him would the choice fall. Mateush began shouting that he would not permit any small whipper-snapper to manage them, and he shouted so that his front teeth, which, being very long, like the teeth of a rabbit, were shining beneath his mustaches; but he grew silent when Yatsek, drawing his sabre, again indicated him with the edge of it, and added, "I choose thee." The remaining brothers and Stanislav drew back at once, seeing that they would never agree, in another way, but their faces grew gloomy, for, knowing the strength of Mateush they felt almost certain that no work would be left them when he had finished. "Begin!" called out Stanislav. Tachevski felt at the first blow the strength of his enemy, for in his own grasp the sabre blade quivered. He warded the blow off, however, and warded off, also, the second one. "He has less skill than strength," thought Tachevski, after the third blow. Then, crouching somewhat, for a better spring, he pressed on with impetus. The other three, inclining downward the points of their sabres, stood open-mouthed, following the course of the struggle. They saw now that Tachevski too "knew things," and that with him it would not be easy. Soon they thought that he knew things very accurately, and alarm seized the brothers, for, despite endless bickering they loved one another immensely. The cry, "Ha!" was rent from the breast, now of one, and now of another, as each keener blow struck. Meanwhile the blows became quicker and quicker; at last they were lightning-like. The spectators saw clearly that Tachevski was gaining more confidence. He was calm, but he sprang around like a wild-cat and his eyes shot out ominous flashes. "It is bad!" thought Stanislav. That moment a cry was heard. Mateush's sabre fell. He raised both hands to his head and dropped to the earth, his face in one instant being blood-covered. At sight of that the three younger brothers bellowed like bulls, and in the twinkle of an eye rushed with rage at Tachevski, not intending, of course, to attack him together, but because each wished to be first in avenging Mateush. And they perhaps would have swept Tachevski apart on their sabres if Stanislav, springing in to assist him, had not cried with all the power in his bosom,--