Luka was only waiting for that. He did not go on at once with his story, as though Kobylin were not worth such a mark of attention. He threaded his needle quietly, bent his legs lazily beneath him, and at last continued as follows: “I excited the fellows to such an extent that they all called out against the Major. That same morning I had borrowed the ‘rascal’ [prison slang for knife] from my neighbour, and had hid it, so as to be ready for anything. When the Major arrived, he was as furious as a madman. ‘Come now, you Little Russians,’ I whispered to them, ‘this is not the time for fear.’ But, dear me, all their courage had slipped down to the soles of their feet, they trembled! The Major came in, he was quite drunk. “‘What is this, how do you dare? I am your Tzar, your God,’ he cried. “When he said that he was the Tzar and God, I went up to him with my knife in my sleeve. “‘No,’ I said to him, ‘your high nobility,’ and I got nearer and nearer to him, ‘that cannot be. Your “high nobility” cannot be our Tzar and our God.’ “‘Ah, you are the man, it is you,’ cried the Major; ‘you are the leader of them.’ “‘No,’ I answered, and I got still nearer to him; ‘no, your “high nobility,” as every one knows, and as you yourself know, the all-powerful God present everywhere is alone in heaven. And we have only one Tzar placed above every one else by God himself. He is our monarch, your “high nobility.” And, your “high nobility,” you are as yet only Major, and you are our chief only by the grace of the Tzar, and by your merits.’ “‘How? how? how?’ stammered the Major. He could not speak, so astounded was he. “This is how I answered, and I threw myself upon him and thrust my knife into his belly up to the hilt. It had been done very quickly; the Major tottered, turned, and fell. “I had thrown my life away. “‘Now, you fellows,’ I cried, ‘it is for you to pick him up.’”