“I have suffered many wrongs from him,” he said bitterly, falling into the Russian tongue, and therefore speaking more volubly; “he is a very devil, and the devil’s emissary. In every way in which one man can hurt another, he has injured me.” “For instance, wedding your sweetheart?” I suggested lightly. The man swore under his breath. “He stole my wife away from me, for one thing, and afterwards beat her to death!” he exclaimed passionately. I started; what a fit servant for Vladimir Sergheievitch! “At least, she was punished for her infidelity,” I remarked dryly. “She was more foolish than wicked at the first,” the fellow protested with a break in his harsh voice; “but that smooth-tongued fellow made her his tool and dupe. He is well placed,” he added vindictively, “a fiend, and the servant of one!” and he shook his fist vehemently at the dark house. My mind was full of speculations; it was evident that there was something here that did not appear upon the surface. “You have a cause of complaint, then, against the Boyar Ramodanofsky also?” I asked with an assumption of carelessness. I could feel rather than see that the man received a shock at my words, suddenly awakening to the fact that he was making admissions that might be dangerous. “I have said too much,” he stammered. “There is too great a gulf between the boyar and a humble man like me for any quarrel.” “Ay,” I said, with a purpose, “unless you take to heart your master’s grievances.” There was a pause. I knew that I had startled the fellow, and he was not sufficiently adroit to escape from the trap into which he had fallen; I could hear his labored breath, and divined that he was in a cold sweat of anxiety and alarm. “My master has no grievances,” he blurted out, evidently sore pressed for an evasion. “I am but a fool to speak of my own.” “Your master strikes me as one who might have many,” I replied coolly; then, taking pity on a confusion that I understood without seeing it: “You have nothing to fear,” I said reassuringly; “I am not a friend of the boyar’s, though I did come out of his gate,” and I laughed a little, silently, at the thought of my strange exit. “Your excellency is wise,” the fellow exclaimed earnestly; “no man is safe in such friendship.” “Like master like man, you think, then, my good Michael,” I said lightly. “It is certain that I shall remember your fists for a while, and I venture to predict that Polotsky will presently have enough of them.” “I beg your pardon a thousand times, my lord,” stammered the man, evidently divided between a desire to establish himself in my good graces, and to escape my inquiries. “You have it freely,” I said laughing, “since I escaped with a whole crown; next time be sure of your adversary, and then be thorough in your castigation; but take my advice and fight by day, in the open, like a man.” “It is rare for me to get the chance,” Michael protested; “he is a sneak, and hides himself away in secure places.”