Taking a small glass from the wall, the old woman raised a piece of the wall-paper.
"Look! Is he the one you want?"
Osip looked through a chink in the partition. "That is he! Get the woman away."
I also looked through the chink into just such a narrow stable as the one we were in. On the sill of the window, which was closely shuttered, burned a tin lamp, near which stood a squinting, naked, Tatar woman, sewing a chemise. Behind her, on two pillows on the bed, was raised the bloated face of Ardalon, his black, tangled beard projecting.
The Tatar woman shivered, put on her chemise, and came past the bed, suddenly appearing in our room.
Osip looked at her and again spat.
"Ugh! Shameless hussy!"
"And you are an old fool!" she replied, laughing, Osip laughed too, and shook a threatening finger at her.
We went into the Tatar's stable. The old man sat on the bed at Ardalon's feet and tried for a long time unsuccessfully to awaken him. He muttered:
"All right, wait a bit. We will go—"