"Do you like these larger ones? They are stronger. This is a very good kind. Take them all," he added, continuing to force them upon his guest. He was evidently glad that there was some one on whom he could lavish his rarities, and he saw nothing out of the way in it. Sierpukhovskoï began to smoke, and hastened to take up the subject that had been dropped. "How much did you have to go on Atlásnui?" he asked. "He cost me dear,--not less than five thousand, but at all events I am secured. Plenty of colts, I tell you!" "Do they trot?" inquired Sierpukhovskoï. "First-rate. To-day Atlásnui's colt took three prizes: one at Tula, one at Moscow, and one at Petersburg. He raced with Voyéïkof's Vorónui. The rascally jockey made four abatements, and almost put him out of the race." "He was rather raw; too much Dutch stock in him, I should say," said Sierpukhovskoï. "Well, but the mares are finer ones. I will show you to-morrow. I paid three thousand for Dobruina, two thousand for Laskovaya." And again the host began to enumerate his wealth. The mistress saw that this was hard for Sierpukhovskoï, and that he only pretended to listen. "Won't you have some more tea?" asked the hostess. "I don't care for any more," said the host, and he went on with his story. She got up; the host detained her, took her in his arms, and kissed her. Sierpukhovskoï smiled at first, as he looked at them; but his smile seemed to them unnatural. When his host got up, and took her in his arms, and went out with her as far as the _portière,_ his face suddenly changed; he sighed deeply, and an expression of despair took possession of his wrinkled face. There was also wrath in it. "Yes, you said that you bought him of Voyéïkof," said Sierpukhovskoï, with assumed indifference. [Footnote 16: _barski dom._] [Footnote 17: _incrusté._] [Footnote 18: _khozyáïn_ and _khozyáïka._] XII. The host returned, and smiled as he sat down opposite his guest. Neither of them spoke. "Oh, yes! I was speaking of Atlásnui. I had a great mind to buy the mares of Dubovitsky. Nothing but rubbish was left." "He was _burned_ out," said Sierpukhovskoï, and suddenly stood up and looked around. He remembered that he owed this ruined man twenty thousand rubles; and that, if _burned_ out were said of any one, it might by good rights be said about himself. He began to laugh. Both kept silence long. The master was revolving in his mind how he might boast a little before his guest. Sierpukhovskoï was cogitating how he might show that he did not consider himself burned out. But the thoughts of both moved with difficulty, in spite of the fact that they tried to enliven themselves with cigars. "Well, when shall we have something to drink?" asked the guest of himself. "At all events, we must have something to drink, else we shall die of the blues," said the host to himself. "How is it? are you going to stay here long?" asked Sierpukhovskoï.