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"Will you believe it, Makarka, it took one's breath away, the rate we flew. We came across a train of loaded sleighs and drove right over two of them. Eh?" "Those were horses!" Balaga continued the tale. "That time I'd harnessed two young side horses with the bay in the shafts," he went on, turning to Dolokhov. "Will you believe it, Theodore Ivanych, those animals flew forty miles?
Dolokhov shouted to him from the other room. "I don't want to," answered Anatole continuing to smile. "Come! Balaga is here." Anatole rose and went into the dining room. Balaga was a famous troyka driver who had known Dolokhov and Anatole some six years and had given them good service with his troykas.
"Well, comrades and friends..." he considered for a moment "...of my youth, farewell!" he said, turning to Makarin and the others. Though they were all going with him, Anatole evidently wished to make something touching and solemn out of this address to his comrades. He spoke slowly in a loud voice and throwing out his chest slightly swayed one leg. "All take glasses; you too, Balaga.
And Anatole and Dolokhov, when they had money, would give him a thousand or a couple of thousand rubles. Balaga was a fair-haired, short, and snub-nosed peasant of about twenty-seven; red-faced, with a particularly red thick neck, glittering little eyes, and a small beard. He wore a fine, dark-blue, silk-lined cloth coat over a sheepskin.
The Punans of the Tinjar basin were claimed by a Sebop chief; that is to say, the chief, Jangan by name, regarded them as under his protection and as therefore under an obligation to trade with him and his people only. But the Pokun people in the basin of a neighbouring river, the Balaga, a tributary of the Rejang, also claimed similar rights over the Punans of the district.
With others Balaga bargained, charging twenty-five rubles for a two hours' drive, and rarely drove himself, generally letting his young men do so. But with "his gentlemen" he always drove himself and never demanded anything for his work.
Balaga took his seat in the front one and holding his elbows high arranged the reins deliberately. Anatole and Dolokhov got in with him. Makarin, Khvostikov, and a valet seated themselves in the other sleigh. "Well, are you ready?" asked Balaga. "Go!" he cried, twisting the reins round his hands, and the troyka tore down the Nikitski Boulevard. "Tproo! Get out of the way!
After taking a turn along the Podnovinski Boulevard, Balaga began to rein in, and turning back drew up at the crossing of the old Konyusheny Street. The young fellow on the box jumped down to hold the horses and Anatole and Dolokhov went along the pavement. When they reached the gate Dolokhov whistled. The whistle was answered, and a maidservant ran out.
Get on!" when it was impossible to go any faster. He liked giving a painful lash on the neck to some peasant who, more dead than alive, was already hurrying out of his way. "Real gentlemen!" he considered them. Anatole and Dolokhov liked Balaga too for his masterly driving and because he liked the things they liked.
Makarin embraced Anatole with tears in his eyes. "Ah, Prince, how sorry I am to part from you! "Let's go. Let's go!" cried Anatole. Balaga was about to leave the room. "No, stop!" said Anatole. "Shut the door; we have first to sit down. That's the way." They shut the door and all sat down. "Now, quick march, lads!" said Anatole, rising.
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