The jemsik, taking out his flint and steel, struck a light, and while Diabolka puffed at it with distended cheeks, the two men simultaneously read out the name engraven on the ribbon—"Jevgen Araktseieff."
"By Jove! The son of our trusty Araktseieff, too, plies the trade," cried Jakuskin.
"He is a known mauvais sujet."
"Well, Diabolka, this is a fine catch. For this you may claim to-morrow every penny Jevgen has robbed overnight."
"And next day I should be as poor as ever," laughed the girl.
"If you chose, this order might make you Jevgen's wife—a real countess," put in Pushkin.
"What would be the good of that? In a week after I should be going back to the gypsies."
"Do you mean to expose him—to have him hanged?"
"I am not such a fool; they would hang me beside him. Leave it to me. I know what to do with my prize."
Jakuskin said to Pushkin, in German, that Diabolka might not understand: