fort."

Joulaï repeated Iván Kouzmitch's question in the Tartar language. But
the Bashkir looked at him with the same expression, and spoke never a
word.

"Jachki!" the Commandant rapped out a Tartar oath, "I'll make you speak.
Here, Joulaï, strip him of his striped dressing-gown, his idiot's dress,
and stripe his shoulders. Now then, Joulaï, touch him up properly."

Two pensioners began undressing the Bashkir. Great uneasiness then
overspread the countenance of the unhappy man. He began looking all
round like a poor little animal in the hands of children. But when one
of the pensioners seized his hands in order to twine them round his
neck, and, stooping, upraised the old man on his shoulders, when Joulaï
took the rods and lifted his hands to strike, then the Bashkir gave a
long, deep moan, and, throwing back his head, opened his mouth, wherein,
instead of a tongue, was moving a short stump.

We were all horrified.

"Well," said the Commandant, "I see we can get nothing out of him.
Joulaï, take the Bashkir back to the barn; and as for us, gentlemen, we
have still to deliberate."

We were continuing to discuss our situation, when Vassilissa Igorofna
burst into the room, breathless, and looking affrighted.

"What has happened to you?" asked the Commandant, surprised.