The proprietor of the house inhabited by Eritzeff, a Persian who was noted for his vanity, stinginess, and cowardice, was determined to obtain a Russian decoration. He was a fearful bore to his tenant, repeating to him at every favourable moment his desire to be useful to the Russian government. Eritzeff lost his patience at last and determined to play him a trick; he announced confidently to him that he was sent on a serious mission to Bagdad and offered him to be his interpreter; Eritzeff also warned him that he was to fit himself suitably for that long journey. The Persian was delighted and replied that the expenses of equipment would not be a drawback, and in fact he delivered himself, in spite of his stinginess, to mad prodigalities; he bought a horse, a new saddle, a white mackintosh and a pair of yellow jack-boots. His family could not understand whither he was starting, but submitted to Providence, and when the day of departure arrived, they all kissed and cried over him. A dinner for the sham-parting was given to Eritzeff in the Mussulman monastery of Abdurakman-Kazi, after which our would-be travellers were to start. During the meal a Cossack was to appear and hand over to Eritzeff a counter-order of departure. Unluckily someone had the awkwardness of revealing that plot before the repast began, nevertheless the guests were immensely amused. In fact, the poor Persian was such a picture to look at, equipped in his great mantle, his seven-leagued boots, furnished with gigantic spurs that reached well up to his calves, and armed up to the tip-top, sword and pistols in his sash; he was literally the personification of “Don Quixote.” The poor creature looked as if he wasn’t quite sure at first whether he was standing on his head or on his heels, but he soon controlled himself and bore his disappointment with serene resignation. Trying to put a good face on the matter, he regaled everyone with the big oranges that he had crammed into his pockets to quench his thirst during his long journey, and calling to mind a Persian song named, “I went in three days to Bagdad,” he said good-humouredly. As to me I have made the trip much quicker! This Persian was the hero of a new pleasant adventure. Last night, returning home, he perceived at the corner of his house someone smoking behind the fountain; only the tip of a lighted cigarette could be seen. “Hello! who goes there?” he challenged the mysterious smoker loudly, but got no answer. “What are you doing there behind that fountain?” Complete silence again. “Brigands for sure!” vociferated the valiant Persian, and dashing into his house he returned reinforced by his servant, provided with a pistol which he pointed at the would-be malefactor, who continued to smoke peacefully. The fact is that there was no brigand whatever; it proved to be simply the tip of a lighted cigarette laid down on the border of the fountain by some nocturnal passer-by.