As the herd returned home the following evening, they met the
master[15] and a guest. Zhulduiba, leading the way, cast her eyes on
two men's figures: one was the young master in a straw hat; the other,
a tall, stout, military man, with wrinkled face. The old mare gazed at
the man, and swerving went near to him; the rest, the younger ones,
were thrown into some confusion, huddled together, especially when the
master and his guest came directly into the midst of the horses, making
gestures to each other, and talking.
"Here's this one. I bought it of Voyéïkof,--the dapple-gray horse,"
said the master.
"And that young black mare, with the white legs,--where did you get
her? Fine one," said the guest. They examined many of the horses as
they walked around, or stood on the field. They remarked also the
chestnut mare.
"That's one of the saddle-horses,--the breed of Khrenovsky."
They quietly gazed at all the horses as they went by. The master
shouted to Nester; and the old man, hastily digging his heels into the
sides of the piebald, trotted out. The piebald horse hobbled along,
limping on one leg; but his gait was such that it was evident that in
other circumstances he would not have complained, even if he had been
compelled to go in this way, as long as his strength held out, to the
world's end. He was ready even to go at full gallop, and at first even
broke into one.
"I have no hesitation in saying that there isn't a better horse in
Russia than that one," said the master, pointing to one of the mares.
The guest corroborated this praise. The master, full of satisfaction,
walked up and down, made observations, and told the story and pedigree
of each of the horses.
It was apparently somewhat of a bore to the guest to listen to the
master; but he devised questions, to make it seem as if he were
interested in it.
"Yes, yes," said he in some confusion.
"Look," said the host, not replying to the questions, "look at
those legs, look at the ... She cost me dear, but I shall have a
three-year-old from her that'll go!"
"Does she trot well?" asked the guest.
Thus they scrutinized almost all the horses, and there was nothing more
to show. And they were silent.
"Well, shall we go?"
"Yes, let us go."
They went out through the gate. The guest was glad that the exhibition
was over, and that he was going home where he would eat, drink, smoke,
and have a good time. As they went by Nester, who was sitting on the
piebald and waiting for further orders, the guest struck his big fat
hand on the horse's side.
"Here's good blood," said he. "He's like the piebald horse, if you
remember, that I told you about."
The master perceived that it was not of his horses that the guest was
speaking; and he did not listen, but, looking around, continued to gaze
at his stud.
Suddenly, at his very ear, was heard a dull, weak, senile neigh. It
was the piebald horse that began to neigh, but could not finish it.
Becoming, as it were, confused, he broke short off.
Neither the guest nor the master paid any attention to this neigh,
but went home. Kholstomír had recognized in the wrinkled old man his
beloved former master, the once brilliant, handsome, and wealthy
Sierpukhovskoï.
[Footnote 15: _khozhyáïn_.]