“Well, can it be managed now?” he inquired of one of the guards, when they at length reached the end of the corridor.
“It is possible, but I don’t know whether you will be able to gain admission to the prison itself. Yana is not here now; another man is keeping watch in his place,” replied the guard.
“Ai, ai!” cried the Jew softly: “this is bad, my dear lord!”
“Go on!” said Taras, firmly, and the Jew obeyed.
At the arched entrance of the vaults stood a heyduke, with a moustache trimmed in three layers: the upper layer was trained backwards, the second straight forward, and the third downwards, which made him greatly resemble a cat.
The Jew shrank into nothing and approached him almost sideways: “Your high excellency! High and illustrious lord!”
“Are you speaking to me, Jew?”
“To you, illustrious lord.”
“Hm, but I am merely a heyduke,” said the merry-eyed man with the triple-tiered moustache.
“And I thought it was the Waiwode himself, by heavens! Ai, ai, ai!” Thereupon the Jew twisted his head about and spread out his fingers. “Ai, what a fine figure! Another finger’s-breadth and he would be a colonel. The lord no doubt rides a horse as fleet as the wind and commands the troops!”