Zazubrina already held the kitten in his hands, and went with it towards the pail of paint, and then Zazubrina began singing:
"Look, my brothers! look at that!
See me paint the ginger cat!
Paint him well, and paint him green,
And then we'll dance upon the scene."
There was a burst of laughter, and holding their sides, the prisoners made a way in their midst, and I saw quite plainly how Zazubrina, seizing the kitten by the tail, flung it into the pail, and then fell a singing and dancing:
"Stop that mewing! cease to squall!
Would you your godfather maul?"
Peals of laughter!
"Oh, crooked-bellied Judas!" piped one squeaky voice.
"Alas, Batyushka!"[2] groaned another.
[2] Little father.
They were stifled, suffocated with laughter. Laughter twisted the bodies of these people, bent them double, vibrated and gurgled in the air—a mighty, devil-may-care laughter, growing louder continually, and reaching the very confines of hysteria. Smiling faces, in white kerchiefs, looked down from the windows of the women's quarters into the yard. The Inspector, squeezing his back to the wall, poked out his brawny body, and, holding it with both hands, discharged his thick, bass, overpowering laugh in regular salvoes.
The joke scattered the folks in all directions around the pail. Performing astounding antics with his legs, Zazubrina danced with all his might, singing by way of accompaniment: