"Well, father Mitri Mikolayévitch, what are you going to say about my boys' proposal?" asked the old man.
"I should advise you absolutely not to send them away, but to have them stay at home, and work," said Nekhliudof, suddenly collecting his wits. "You know what I have proposed to you. Go in with me, and buy some of the crown woods and some more land"—
"But how are we going to get money to buy it, your excellency?" he asked, interrupting the prince.
"Why, it isn't very much wood, only two hundred rubles' worth," replied Nekhliudof.
The old man gave an indignant laugh.
"Very good, if that's all. Why not buy it?" said he.
"Haven't you money enough?" asked the prince reproachfully.
"Okh! Sir, your excellency!" replied the old man, with grief expressed in his tone, looking apprehensively toward the door. "Only enough to feed my family, not enough to buy woodland."
"But you know you have money,—what do you do with it?" insisted Nekhliudof.
The old man suddenly fell into a terrible state of excitement: his eyes flashed, his shoulders began to twitch.