He noticed that they were bringing more horses into the yard, small, shaggy ponies like wolves. He became calmer, and his fear disappeared; he only remained cautious and observant; everything that happened seemed to take hours, yet he saw it with precision. 'It is cold...it is cold!' He made up the fire for these bandits who stretched themselves on the benches; he felt they were talking and laughing about him, and he turned to them and nodded; he thought it would please them if he showed that he approved of them. They asked him about God knows what, where they were, and where they were not. As though he knew! Then they started all over again, while they swung their booted legs under the seats. One of them came up to the hearth, and clapped the crouching Yakob on his back for fun, but it hurt. It was a resounding smack. Yakob scratched himself and rumpled his hair, unable to understand. They boiled water and made tea; a smell of sausages spread about the room. Yakob bit his jaws together and looked at the fire. He sat in his place as though he had been glued to it. His ears were tingling when he heard the soldiers grinding their teeth on their food, tearing the skin off the sausages and smacking their lips. A large and painful void was gaping in his inside. They devoured their food fast and noisily, and an odour of brandy began to fill the room, and contracted Yakob's throat. He understood that they were inviting him to share the meal, but he felt uneasy about that, and though his stomach seemed to have shrunk, and the sausage-skins and bones which they had thrown away lay quite close to him, he could not make up his mind to move and pick them up. 'Come on!' The soldier beckoned to him. 'Come here!' The old man felt that he was weakening, the savoury smell took possession of him. But 'I shan't go,' he thought. The soldier, gnawing a bone, repeated, 'Come on!' 'I shan't go,' thought Yakob, and spat into the fire, to assure himself that he was not going. All the same...the terribly tempting smell made him more and more feeble. At last two of them got up, took him under the arms, and sat him down between them. They made signs to him, they held the sausage under his nose; the tea was steaming, the brandy smelt delicious. Yakob put his hands on the table, then put them behind him. Black shadows were gesticulating on the walls. He felt unhappy about sharing a meal with people without knowing what they were, never having seen or known them before. They were Russians, thus much he knew. He had a vision of something that happened long ago, he could not distinctly remember what it was, for it happened so very long ago; his grandfather had come home from the fair that was held in the town, shivering and groaning. There had been outcries and curses. 'They are going to poison me like a dog,' he thought.