I went into a room, very clean, but furnished in a very homely manner. In one corner there stood a dresser with crockery on it. Against the wall hung, framed and glazed, an officer's commission. Around this were arranged some bark pictures,[30] representing the "Taking of Kustrin" and of "Otchakóf,"[31] "The Choice of the Betrothed," and the "Burial of the Cat by the Mice." Near the window sat an old woman wrapped in a shawl, her head tied up in a handkerchief. She was busy winding thread, which a little, old, one-eyed man in an officer's uniform was holding on his outstretched hands.
"What do you want, my little father?" she said to me, continuing her employment.
I answered that I had been ordered to join the service here, and that, therefore, I had hastened to report myself to the Commandant. With these words I turned towards the little, old, one-eyed man, whom I had taken for the Commandant. But the good lady interrupted the speech with which I had prepared myself.
"Iván Kouzmitch[32] is not at home," said she. "He is gone to see Father Garassim. But it's all the same, I am his wife. Be so good as to love us and take us into favour.[33] Sit down, my little father."
She called a servant, and bid her tell the "ouriadnik"[34] to come. The little, old man was looking curiously at me with his one eye.
"Might I presume to ask you," said he to me, "in what regiment you have deigned to serve?"
I satisfied his curiosity.
"And might I ask you," continued he, "why you have condescended to exchange from the Guard into our garrison?"
I replied that it was by order of the authorities.
"Probably for conduct unbecoming an officer of the Guard?" rejoined my indefatigable questioner.