‘Give us your mug, your mug!’

And the old man took Olenin by the head with both hands and kissed him three times with wet moustaches and lips, and began to cry.

‘I love you, good-bye!’

Olenin got into the cart.

‘Well, is that how you’re going? You might give me something for a remembrance. Give me a gun! What do you want two for?’ said the old man, sobbing quite sincerely.

Olenin got out a musket and gave it to him.

‘What a lot you’ve given the old fellow,’ murmured Vanyusha, ‘he’ll never have enough!

A regular old beggar. They are all such irregular people,’