“These good people offer you the shelter of their roof for the night,” said he to me, looking me up and down with vindictive eyes. “I find it hard to refuse them, but I tell you straight that for my part I had rather see you on the snow. It would cool your hot blood, you rascal of a Frenchman!”
I looked at him with the contempt that I felt.
“You were born a savage and you will die one,” said I.
My words stung him, for he broke into an oath, raising his whip as if he would strike me.
“Silence, you crop-eared dog!” he cried. “Had I my way some of the insolence would be frozen out of you before morning.” Mastering his passion, he turned upon Sophie with what he meant to be a gallant manner. “If you have a cellar with a good lock,” said he, “the fellow may lie in it for the night, since you have done him the honour to take an interest in his comfort. I must have his parole that he will not attempt to play us any tricks, as I am answerable for him until I hand him over to the Hetman Platoff to-morrow.”
His supercilious manner was more than I could endure.
He had evidently spoken French to the lady in order that I might understand the humiliating way in which he referred to me.
“I will take no favour from you,” said I. “You may do what you like, but I will never give you my parole.”
The Russian shrugged his great shoulders, and turned away as if the matter were ended.
“Very well, my fine fellow, so much the worse for your fingers and toes. We shall see how you are in the morning after a night in the snow.”