"Alexander Vassilitch?" the brigadier answered, after a brief silence, in which he seemed to be pulling his thoughts together; "to be sure, I remember him; he was a little, brisk old man. Before one could stir a finger, he'd be here and there and everywhere (the brigadier chuckled). He rode into Warsaw on a Cossack horse; he was all in diamonds, and he says to the Poles: 'I've no watch, I forgot it in Petersburg--no watch!' and they shouted and huzzaed for him. Queer chaps! Hey! Cucumber! lad!" he added suddenly, changing and raising his voice (the deacon-buffoon had remained standing at the door), "where's the rolls, eh? And tell Grunka . . . to bring some kvas!"

"Directly, your honour," I heard Cucumber's voice reply. He handed the brigadier the bundle of rolls, and, going out of the lodge, approached a dishevelled creature in rags--the half-witted girl, Grunka, I suppose--and as far as I could make out through the dusty little window, proceeded to demand kvas from her--at least, he several times raised one hand like a funnel to his mouth, and waved the other in our direction.