Semén got up, bowed to the gentleman, and wondered what he wanted. He had not seen such men. Semén himself was spare-ribbed, and Mikháyla was lean, and Matréna was as dry as a chip, while this one was like a man from another world: his face was red and blood-filled, his neck like a bull's, and altogether he looked as though cast in iron.
The gentleman puffed, took off his fur coat, seated himself on a bench, and said:
"Who is the master shoemaker?"
Semén stepped forward, and said:
"I, your Excellency."
The gentleman shouted to his lad:
"Oh, Fédka, let me have the material!"
The lad came running in and brought a bundle. The gentleman took it and put it on the table.
"Open it!" he said.