“Well, first there’s Vassily Nikolaevitch, the head cashier; then Piotr, one clerk; Piotr’s brother, Iván, another clerk; the other Iván, a clerk; Konstantin Narkizer, another clerk; and me here--there’s a lot of us, you can’t count all of them.” “I suppose your mistress has a great many serfs in her house?” “No, not to say a great many.” “How many, then?” “I dare say it runs up to about a hundred and fifty.” We were both silent for a little. “I suppose you write a good hand, eh?” I began again. The young man grinned from ear to ear, went into the office and brought in a sheet covered with writing. “This is my writing,” he announced, still with the same smile on his face. I looked at it; on the square sheet of grayish paper there was written, in a good bold hand, the following document: “ORDER: From the Chief Office of the Manor of Ananyevo to the Agent, Mihal Vikulov. No. 209. “_Whereas_, Some person unknown entered the garden at Ananyevo last night in an intoxicated condition, and with unseemly songs waked the French governess, Madame Engêne, and disturbed her; and whether the watchman saw anything, and who were on watch in the garden and permitted such disorderliness: as regards all the above-written matters, your orders are to investigate in detail, and report immediately to the Office.” “_Head Clerk_, NIKOLAI HVOSTOV.” A huge heraldic seal was attached to the order, with the inscription: “Seal of the chief office of the manor of Ananyevo;” and below stood the signature: “To be executed exactly, Elena Losnyakova.” “Your lady signed it herself, eh?” I queried. “To be sure; she always signs herself. Without that the order would be of no effect.” “Well, and now shall you send this order to the agent?” “No, sir. He’ll come himself and read it. That’s to say, it’ll be read to him; you see, he’s no scholar.” The clerk on duty was silent again for a while. “But what do you say?” he added, simpering; “is it well written?” “Very well written.” “It wasn’t composed, I must confess, by me. Konstantin is the great one for that.” “What?--Do you mean the orders have first to be composed among you?” “Why, how else could we do? Couldn’t write them off straight without making a fair copy.” “And what salary do you get?” I inquired. “Thirty-five rubles, and five rubles for boots.” “And are you satisfied?” “Of course I am satisfied. It’s not every one can get into an office like ours. It was God’s will, in my case, to be sure; I’d an uncle who was in service as a butler.” “And you’re well off?” “Yes, sir. Though, to tell the truth,” he went on, with a sigh, “a place at a merchant’s, for instance, is better for the likes of us. At a merchant’s they’re very well off. Yesterday evening a merchant came to us from Venev, and his man got talking to me.--Yes, that’s a good place, no doubt about it; a very good place.” “Why? Do the merchants pay more wages?”