"Alexander Ivanovitch, I am glad to make your acquaintance as a friend; I am no longer your master."
Sasha took the hand of the baron and kissed it, and his tears fell thick and fast.
"Dear Lord Baron," he cried, "give me also the freedom of my father and grandfather, and I will add a payment of five thousand roubles a year for ten years to come!"
"And your ancestors for five hundred years back," the baron answered laughing. "I don't know their names, but they can all be thrown into the deed in one lump."
Before another day passed it was done. Sasha and the other living members of his family were free, and his ancestors also would have been free if they had not been dead. With the parchment signed and sealed in his pocket he took a carriage and post-horses and travelled day and night until he reached his native village. No one knew the stranger in his rich merchant's dress; his father and brothers were at work, and his mother had gone to see a neighbour:—old Gregor was alone in the house. He was leaning back in a rude arm-chair, with a sheep-skin over his knees; his eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, and his face so haggard and sunken that Sasha immediately thought he was dead.
He knelt down beside the chair, and placed his hand on the old man's heart, to see if it still beat. Presently came a broken voice, saying:
"The black god—the truth, my boy!" and Gregor feebly stretched a hand towards Sasha's breast. The latter tore open his dress, and spread the cold, horny fingers over his own heart, the warmth of which seemed to kindle a fresh life in the old man. He at last opened his eyes.
"Little Sasha!" said he; "little Sasha will keep his word."
"Grandfather," exclaimed Sasha, "I have kept it."
"It's a man—a brave looking man," said Gregor; "but he has the voice of my boy Sasha; and he has, yes, I know he has, his hand upon my heart."