but the grim Zaporozhtzi only laughed, when they saw the Jewish legs, encased in shoes and stockings flourishing in the air. The poor orator who had called down destruction on himself, wriggled out of his kaftan, by which they had seized him, and in his scant, parti-coloured under-waistcoat, clasped Bulba's legs and begged, in a piteous voice: "Great lord! most gracious sir! I used to know your brother, the late Dorosha. He was a warrior who was an ornament to knighthood. I gave him eight hundred sequins when he was forced to ransom himself from the Turks."
"You knew my brother?" asked Taras.
"God is my witness that I did. He was a magnificent nobleman."
"And what is your name?"
"Yankel."
"Good," said Taras; and then, after reflecting, he turned to the kazáks and spoke as follows:
"There will always be plenty of time to hang the Jew, if it proves necessary; but give him to me for to-day."
So saying, Taras led him to his wagon, beside which stood his kazáks. "Now, crawl under the cart; lie there, and don't move.—And as for you, my good men, don't you surrender the Jew."
Thereupon he returned to the square, for the whole crowd had, long before, collected there.
