The crowd faintly roared in response. One peasant was rubbing his shoulder, another his side, a third his nose.
'You're pretty free with your whip!' was heard in the back rows.
'Why have you killed the Jew, you christened Pagans?' repeated Tchertop-hanov.
But, at this point, the creature lying on the ground hurriedly jumped on to its feet, and, running up to Tchertop-hanov, convulsively seized hold of the edge of the saddle.
'Alive!' was heard in the background.
'He's a regular cat!'
'Your ex-shelency, defend me, save me!' the unhappy Jew was faltering meanwhile, his whole body squeezed up against Tchertop-hanov's foot; 'or they will murder me, they will murder me, your ex-shelency!'
'What have they against you?' asked Tchertop-hanov.
'I can't tell, so help me God! Some cow hereabouts died... so they suspect me... but I...' 'Well, that we'll go into later!' Tchertop-hanov interrupted; 'but now, you hold on to the saddle and follow me. And you!' he added, turning to the crowd,' do you know me?--I'm the landowner Panteley Tchertop-hanov. I live at Bezsonovo,--and so you can take proceedings against me, when you think fit--and against the Jew too, while you're about it!'
'Why take proceedings?' said a grey-bearded, decent-looking peasant, bowing low, the very picture of an ancient patriarch. (He had been no whit behind the others in belabouring the Jew, however). 'We know your honour, Panteley Eremyitch, well; we thank your honour humbly for teaching us better!'