“Let me pull it a little forward, your excellency,” said the servant, “it is rather dark here.” “That will do.” The general and his officers walked around the calash, carefully inspecting the wheels and springs. “There is nothing remarkable about it,” said the general; “it is a very ordinary calash.” “Nothing to look at,” added the colonel; “there is absolutely nothing good about it.” “It seems to me, your excellency, that it is not worth four thousand rubles,” remarked a young officer. “What?” “I said, your excellency, that I do not think that it is worth four thousand rubles.” “Four thousand! It is not worth two. Perhaps, however, the inside is well fitted. Unbutton the apron.” And Tchertokoutski appeared before the officers’ eyes, clad in his dressing-gown and doubled up in a singular fashion. “Hullo, there you are,” said the astonished general. Then he covered Tchertokoutski up again and went off with his officers. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Taras Bulba and Other Tales, by Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol