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- Стр. 967/1273
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"
That
will
do
,
please
,
that
will
do
.
Have
the
goodness
--
please
,
sir
,
to
let
go
!
Please
,
sir
...
"
pleaded
Gerásim
,
trying
carefully
to
steer
Makár
Alexéevich
by
the
elbows
back
to
the
door
.
"
Who
are
you
?
Bonaparte
!
...
"
shouted
Makár
Alexéevich
.
"
That
's
not
right
,
sir
.
Come
to
your
room
,
please
,
and
rest
.
Allow
me
to
have
the
pistol
.
"
"
Be
off
,
thou
base
slave
!
Touch
me
not
!
See
this
?
"
shouted
Makár
Alexéevich
,
brandishing
the
pistol
.
"
Board
them
!
"
"
Catch
hold
!
"
whispered
Gerásim
to
the
porter
.
They
seized
Makár
Alexéevich
by
the
arms
and
dragged
him
to
the
door
.
The
vestibule
was
filled
with
the
discordant
sounds
of
a
struggle
and
of
a
tipsy
,
hoarse
voice
.
Suddenly
a
fresh
sound
,
a
piercing
feminine
scream
,
reverberated
from
the
porch
and
the
cook
came
running
into
the
vestibule
.
"
It
's
them
!
Gracious
heavens
!
O
Lord
,
four
of
them
,
horsemen
!
"
she
cried
.
Gerásim
and
the
porter
let
Makár
Alexéevich
go
,
and
in
the
now
silent
corridor
the
sound
of
several
hands
knocking
at
the
front
door
could
be
heard
.
