“My death is in the broom which lies around at the threshold.”
As soon as Koshchéi had flown away, Vassilissa Kirbítyevna ran to Ivan Tsarevich.
Bulat asked: “Well, where is Koshchéi’s death?”
“In a broom thrown around at the threshold.”
“No, he lies with design; thou must ask him more cunningly.”
Vassilissa Kirbítyevna formed a plan. She took the broom, gilded it, adorned it with various ribbons, and placed it on the table. When Koshchéi Without-Death flew home, he saw the broom on the table, and asked why that was done.
“How was it possible,” answered Vassilissa Kirbítyevna, “that thy death should roll around at the threshold? Better let it lie on the table.”
“Ha, ha, ha! The woman is simple; her hair is long, but her wit is short! Could my death be here?”
“Where is it, then?”
“My death is hidden in the goat.”