Schinko was the chief flogger of the palace; he had to execute all the scourging, whipping, and lashing with the knout. It was his office. He had no choice but to carry out orders. If his master ordered him to thrash corn, he must do it; if to thrash mujiks, he must thrash them. Lucky that it was his part to administer, not to receive, the lash. Moreover, he was a gypsy; and gypsies, it is known, have stronger nerves than other men.
The eve of the wedding-day Daimona commanded Diabolka to try on her gay wedding-dress, and to show herself in it to the master.
He admired it, and gave the girl a slap on the cheek.
"Do you see? I am glad you have grown at last into a respectable young woman. I raised you out of the mire into which you had sunk. Is it not a good thing to have become a well-behaved girl?"
And Diabolka, falling on her knees before him, kissed his feet.
"Nice to be a bride, eh? Now you love your cousin Schinko, don't you?"
The girl hid her face in confusion.
"Well, show how you can give a kiss. Where's Schinko?"
But Diabolka would not be kissed. Schinko might wait till he was married.
"A sensible girl," said her master, praising her. "Now take her to the priest, that she may tell her prayers and confess. To-morrow morning her bridesmaids and groomsmen shall fetch her back. You go with her, Schinko!"