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Updated: May 11, 2025
"And did you really go to Belyov?" murmured Finoplentov. "Straight to Belyov. I went into the market place and asked at the second shop on the right for Prohoritch. 'Is there such a person? I asked. 'Yes, they told me.
And it must have been its destined end: it was the first time in his life that the soldier had fired a gun, though he had a medal for service in 1812. So this was the supernatural incident that happened to me." The speaker ceased and began filling his pipe. We all looked at each other in amazement. "Well, perhaps, you have led a very virtuous life," Mr. Finoplentov began, "so in recompense ..."
I thought, by the way, I would be bled myself at Yefremovo: it's a good thing as a precaution against fright, only not from the arm, of course, but from the falcon." "What place is that, the falcon?" Mr. Finoplentov asked with demure curiosity. "Why, don't you know? It is here on the fist near the thumb, the spot on which one shakes the snuff from one's horn, just here.
"I am of the same opinion," the master of the house, Finoplentov, chimed in from the corner in falsetto. "Well, I must confess, I cannot agree, for something supernatural has happened to me myself," said a bald, corpulent middle-aged gentleman of medium height, who had till then sat silent behind the stove.
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