"Where are you from?" asked Skshetuski.
"Nowhere, sir!" answered the old man. "We go begging with a lyre, and this dumb boy leads me."
"Where are you coming from now,--from what village? Speak boldly; nothing will happen to you."
"We, sir, travelled through all the villages, till some devil stripped us. We had good boots, he took them; we had good caps, he took them; good coats from people's charity, he took them, and did not leave the lyre."
"I ask you, you fool, from what village you come."
"I don't know, sir,--I am an old man. See, we are naked; we are freezing at night, in the daytime we ask the charity of people to cover us and feed us; we are hungry!"
"Listen, louts! Answer my question, or I will hang you!"
"I don't know, my lord. If I am this or that, or there will be anything, let me alone."
It was evident that the old man, unable to decide who his questioner was, determined not to give any answer.
"Were you in Rozlogi, where the Princes Kurtsevichi live?"