‘And how old are you?’ asked Olenin.

‘The Lord only knows! I must be about seventy. When a Tsaritsa reigned in Russia I was no longer very small. So you can reckon it out. I must be seventy.’

‘Yes you must, but you are still a fine fellow.’

‘Well, thank Heaven I am healthy, quite healthy, except that a woman, a witch, has harmed me....’

‘How?’

‘Oh, just harmed me.’

‘And so when you die the grass will grow?’ repeated Olenin.

Eroshka evidently did not wish to express his thought clearly. He was silent for a while.

‘And what did you think? Drink!’ he shouted suddenly, smiling and handing Olenin some wine.