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Tchertop-hanov lifted up his head.... Once more a faint, faint neigh was heard. 'That's Malek-Adel neighing! was his thought.... 'It's his neigh. But why so far away? Bless us and save us!... It can't be...
But in what way had the thief contrived by night, when the stable was locked, to steal Malek-Adel? Malek-Adel, who would never let a stranger come near him even by day steal him, too, without noise, without a sound? And how explain that not a yard-dog had barked? It was true there were only two left two young puppies and those two probably burrowing in rubbish from cold and hunger but still!
'Yes, yes; what are you called? 'Moshel Leyba. 'Well, judge then, Moshel Leyba, my friend you're a man of sense whom would Malek-Adel have allowed to touch him except his old master? You see he must have saddled him and bridled him and taken off his cloth there it is lying on the hay!... and made all his arrangements simply as if he were at home!
This was what Panteley Eremyitch said to Perfishka: this was how his tongue spoke; but at heart he was not so completely at peace as he declared. Alas! in his heart of hearts he was not perfectly convinced that the horse he had brought back was really Malek-Adel! Troubled times followed for Panteley Eremyitch. Peace was just the last thing he enjoyed.
He was almost always putting Malek-Adel through examinations, if one may use the expression; he would ride him out to some point at a little distance in the open country, and put him to the proof, or would go stealthily into the stable, lock the door after him, and standing right before the horse's head, look into his eyes, and ask him in a whisper, 'Is it you? Is it you?
He looked round.... Malek-Adel was standing in the middle of the road. He had walked after his master; he touched him with his nose to announce himself. 'Ah! shouted Tchertop-hanov, of yourself, of yourself you have come to your death! So, there! In the twinkling of an eye he had snatched out his pistol, drawn the trigger, turned the muzzle on Malek-Adel's brow, fired....
In his shadow could be seen germinating that future advocate-general of Broe, dedicated to the sarcasms of Paul-Louis Courier. There was a false Chateaubriand, named Marchangy, in the interim, until there should be a false Marchangy, named d'Arlincourt. Claire d'Albe and Malek-Adel were masterpieces; Madame Cottin was proclaimed the chief writer of the epoch.
At other times he would set his horse at full gallop over some newly ploughed field, or would make him leap down to the very bottom of a hollow ravine, and leap out again at the very steepest point, and his heart would throb with rapture, a loud whoop would break from his lips, and he would know, would know for certain, that it was the real, authentic Malek-Adel he had under him; for what other horse could do what this one was doing?
'Your ex-shelency, began the Jew, gaining a little courage, and grinning all over his face, 'should, after the Russian fashion, take from hand to hand.... 'What next? what an idea! A Hebrew... and Russian customs! Hey! you there! Take the horse; lead him to the stable. And give him some oats. I'll come myself and look after him. And his name is to be Malek-Adel!
In that silent place where he should not have met a living creature.... 'Away with you, devil, to the four winds of heaven! he muttered, and letting go Malek-Adel's rein, he gave him a violent blow on the shoulder with the butt end of the pistol. Malek-Adel promptly turned back, clambered out of the ravine... and ran away. But the thud of his hoofs was not long audible.
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