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Updated: June 18, 2025
He saw the tall figure of Aristid Fomich Kuvalda, in a grey cap with a red band, with his arms bound behind his back, being led away. Petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror, and went back into the dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled.
Some ragged wretches brought out the dead man's body. "I'll teach you! You just wait!" thundered the Inspector at Kuvalda. "How now, ataman?" asked Petunikoff maliciously, excited and pleased at the sight of his enemy in bonds. "That, you fell into the trap? Eh? You just wait. . ." But Kuvalda was quiet now.
The heap of dark and tattered figures that lay in the courtyard made noisy demonstrations of pleasure. They all knew the merchant, Petunikoff, who passed them very often, contemptuously turning up his eyes and giving them no more attention than he bestowed on the other heaps of rubbish lying on the ground.
Martyanoff, with his strong face, followed him. The courtyard of the merchant Petunikoff emptied quickly. "Now then, go on!" called the driver, striking the horses with the whip. The cart moved off over the rough surface of the courtyard. The teacher was covered with a heap of rags, and his belly projected from beneath them.
The Doctor, a young man with eye-glasses, looked at him curiously, the Coroner with an attention that boded him no good, Petunikoff with triumph, while the Inspector could hardly restrain himself from throwing himself upon him. The dark figure of Martyanoff appeared at the door of the dosshouse.
"You are the proof of that," said Petunikoff quietly, while his eyes shot forth poisonous glances. And he went away, leaving Kuvalda under the pleasant impression that the merchant was afraid of him. If he were not afraid of him he would long ago have evicted him from the dosshouse. But then he would think twice before turning him out, because of the five roubles a month.
Petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror and went back into the dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled. At the door facing him stood an old man with a stick in his hand and a large bag on his back, a horrible odd man in rags and tatters, which covered his bony figure. He bent under the weight of his burden, and lowered his head on his breast, as if he wished to attack the merchant.
It is not that ... I was alluding to the compensation I was to get for my ground." "But then this ground is of no use to you," said Petunikoff, calmly. "But it is mine!" exclaimed the soldier. "Of course, and how much do you want for it?" "Well, say the amount stated in the document," said Vaviloff, boldly. "Six hundred!" and Petunikoff smiled softly. "You are a funny fellow!"
It is improbable that anyone had ever awaited the merchant with such impatience as did this bare-footed brigade. "He isn't even thinking of coming, the wretch! . . ." "That means that he does not love me!" sang Deacon Taras, leaning his chin on his hand and casting a humorous glance toward the mountain. At last Petunikoff appeared.
He sat imagining many horrible forms of disaster while watching Petunikoff, who was descending the hill into the wood like a spider going into its web. Last night he even imagined that the wood gave way before the merchant and he fell . . . but afterward he found that he had only been dreaming.
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