"Your Excellency is pleased to jest. Of course you are a general. As, however, it is only to-day that you were appointed one, it is quite possible that the fact has escaped your memory."
Petroff's momentary anger evaporated at the speaker's apologetic tone. After all, it was much better to be a major-general than a bootmaker, and he was not going to quarrel with his good fortune.
"I did forget it for the moment," he returned, "but I'll remember it now. If I'm a major-general, though, I must have something to drink, eh?"
"Certainly, your Excellency," replied the other, as he uncorked a bottle of vodka and poured out a brimming glass. Petroff sat sipping it happily, when the second officer came over to his chair and saluted.
"Will your Excellency be pleased to dress now?" he remarked. "It is time to get into uniform." Then, without waiting for the old man to recover from the surprise which this announcement created, he brought forward a richly ornamented tunic, together with the remaining items of a general's uniform. Petroff gazed at the clothes in awe; he had never seen so much magnificence in his life.
As his two companions proceeded to make his toilet for him he could do nothing but murmur, "I'm a general." At last he had repeated the statement so often that, in his befuddled condition, he almost came to believe in it.
"I suppose I am really a general?" he remarked, as his companions assisted him to buckle on his sword.
"There is no doubt of it, your Excellency," replied the senior. "Let me introduce myself as Major Romanoff, and my colleague here as Captain Marckovitch. We have been appointed to act as your adjutants, and shall be pleased to carry out any orders you may give us."
Petroff laughed delightedly. This was a thousand times better than being a bootmaker and getting locked up for taking too much vodka.
"Very well, then; if I'm a general I must have another drink," he declared, stretching out his hand towards the table.