“No, Dobri, no; not a rouble less,” repeated the shopman.
Petroff smiled, and shook back his black curly hair, as a lion might in sporting with an obstinate cub.
At that moment a Turk entered. His position in society I could not at the time guess, but he had the overbearing manner of one who might have been raised by favour from a low to a high station. He pushed Petroff rudely out of his way, and claimed the entire attention of the shopman, which was at once and humbly accorded.
A fine expression of fierce contempt flashed across Petroff’s countenance; but to my surprise, he at once drew aside.
When the Turk was served and had gone out, the shopman turned to me.
“After Petroff,” I said, bowing towards the man.
The surprise and pleasure of Petroff was evidently great, but he refused to take advantage of my courtesy, and seemed so overwhelmed with modest confusion at my persisting that he should be served before me, that he ultimately left the shop, much to my regret, without making his purchase.
To my inquiries, the shopman replied that Dobri was the blacksmith of the place, and one of its best and steadiest workmen.
After completing my purchases I left, and strolled through the village towards its further extremity.
“The Turks seem to ’ave it all their own way ere, sir,” said Lancey, as we walked along.