"So, then, you are crying for a girl? And was she pretty, hei?"
"Let me go, please," said Skshetuski.
"Wait!"
"On my way to service you cannot command me. I am free of you."
"Wait!" said Lashch, with the stubbornness of a drunken man. "You have service, but I have none. There is no one to command me here." Then lowering his voice, he repeated the question, "But she was pretty, hei?"
The lieutenant frowned, "I tell you, sir, better not touch a sore spot."
"Not touch? Never fear! If she was pretty, she is alive."
Skshetuski's face was covered with a deathly pallor, but he restrained himself, and said: "I hope I shall not forget with whom I am talking--"
Lashch stuck out his eyes. "What! Are you threatening me, threatening me,--for one little wench?"
"Go your way!" shouted old Zatsvilikhovski, trembling with anger.