"Go on," said Tarass, in a stubborn voice. The Jew obeyed.
At the door of a dungeon stood a heyduke,[41] with mustachios, separated into three different stories: the upper story went backwards, the middle one straight forwards, and the last downwards, which gave the heyduke very nearly the appearance of a cat.
The Jew bent his back as much as he could, and came near him, stealing along sideways. "Your lordship! my gracious lord!"
"Dost thou speak to me, Jew?"
"To you, gracious lord!"
"Ahem!—and I am nothing but a heyduke," said the thrice-mustachioed face, with eyes glittering with delight.
"By Heavens! I took you for the Voevoda himself! really now, I did." And the Jew began to shake his head and to stretch out his fingers. "Ah! what an air of importance! By Heavens! the air of a colonel, quite a colonel! A hair's breadth more, and it would be a colonel's. Your worship ought only to mount a horse as swift as a fly, and command regiments!"
The heyduke curled the nether story of his mustachios, and his eye assumed quite an expression of gaiety.
"What a set of men you military men are," continued the Jew. "Oh dear me! what a good set of men. And the braidings and the facings—all these make them glitter like the sun! The girls, as soon as they behold a military man—ah! ah!" And the Jew again shook his head.
The heyduke curled his upper mustachios, and gave vent to a sound something like the neighing of a horse.