"Yes, we know what sort of an idea you have about it," answered Peredonov. "But we're not going to give Poland back to you. We have conquered you. We have conferred many benefits on you and yet it's true that however well you feed a wolf he always looks towards the wood." Marta said nothing. After a short silence Peredonov said abruptly: "The Poles have no brains." Marta flushed. "There are all kinds of people among both Russians and Poles," she said. "No, what I say is true," persisted Peredonov, "the Poles are stupid. They only submit to force. Take the Jews--they're clever." "The Jews are cheats--they're not clever at all," said Vladya. "No, the Jews are a very clever people. The Jew always gets the best of a Russian, but a Russian never gets the best of a Jew." "It isn't a great thing to get the best of other people," said Vladya. "Is mind only to be used for cheating?" Peredonov looked angrily at Vladya. "The mind is for learning, and you don't learn," he said. Vladya sighed and turned away and began to watch the cob's even trotting. But Peredonov continued: "The Jews are clever in everything. Clever in learning and in everything. If the Jews were allowed to become professors, all professors would be Jews. But the Polish women are all sluts." He looked at Marta and noted with satisfaction that she blushed violently. He became amiable: "Now, don't think that I'm talking about you. I know that you would be a good housekeeper." "All Polish women are good housekeepers," replied Marta. "Well, yes," said Peredonov, "they're good housekeepers. They're clean on top, but their petticoats are dirty. But then you had Mickiewicz.[1] He's better than our Pushkin. He hangs on my wall--Pushkin used to hang there, but I took him down and hung him in the privy. He was a lackey." "But you're a Russian," said Vladya. "What's our Mickiewicz to you? Pushkin's a good poet and Mickiewicz's a good poet." "Mickiewicz is better," asseverated Peredonov. "The Russians are fools. They've invented only the samovar--nothing else." Peredonov looked at Marta, screwed up one eye and said: "You've got a lot of freckles. That's not pretty." "What can one do?" asked Marta, smiling. "I've got freckles too," said Vladya, turning round on his narrow seat and brushing against the silent Ignaty. "You're a boy," said Peredonov, "and so it doesn't matter. A man needn't be handsome; but it doesn't become a girl," he went on, turning to Marta. "No one will want to marry you. You ought to bathe your face in cucumber-brine." Marta thanked him for his advice. Vladya looked smilingly at Peredonov. "What are you grinning at?" said Peredonov. "Just wait till we're there--then you'll get what's waiting for you." Vladya, shifting in his seat, looked attentively at Peredonov and tried to find out if he were joking or speaking seriously. But Peredonov could not bear to have anyone stare at him.