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le。 Many a time had they beaten him； many a time made him drunk with champagne and madeira； a wine he loved； and more than one exploit he knew of each of them； which would long ago have sent any ordinary man to Siberia。 They often called Balaga in to their carousals； made him drink and dance with the gypsies； and many a thousand roubles of their money had passed through his hands。 In their service； twenty times a year； he risked his life and his skin； and wore out more horses than they repaid him for in money。 But he liked them； liked their furious driving； eighteen versts an hour； liked upsetting coachmen； and running down people on foot in Moscow； and always flew full gallop along the Moscow streets。 He liked to hear behind him the wild shout of drunken voices； “Get on； get on！” when it was impossible to drive faster； liked to give a lash on the neck to a passing peasant who was already hastening out of his way more dead than alive。 “Real gentlemen！” he thought。
Anatole and Dolohov liked Balaga； too； for his spirited driving； and because he liked the same things that they liked。 With other people Balaga drove hard bargains； he would take as much as twenty…five roubles for a two hours’ drive； and rarely drove himself； generally sending one of his young men。 But with his own gentlemen； as he called them； he always drove himself； and never asked for anything for the job。
Only after learning through their valets when money was plentiful； he would turn up once every few months in the morning； and sober； and bowing low； would ask them to help him out of his difficulties。 The gentlemen always made him sit down。
“Please； help me out of a scrape； Fyodor Ivanovitch； or your excellency；” he would say。 “I’m quite run out of horses； lend me what you can to go to the fair。”
And whenever they were flush of money Anatole and Dolohov would give him a thousand or two。
Balaga was a flaxen…headed； squat； snub…nosed peasant of seven and twenty； with a red face and a particularly red； thick neck； little sparkling eyes； and a little beard。 He wore a fine blue silk…lined full coat； put on over a fur pelisse。
He crossed himself； facing the opposite corner； and went up to Dolohov； holding out his black； little hand。
“Respects to Fyodor Ivanovitch！” said he； bowing
“Good…day to you； brother。 Well； here he comes！”
“Good…morning； your excellency！” he said to Anatole as he came in and to him； too； he held out his hand。
“I say； Balaga；” said Anatole； laying his hands on his shoulders； “do you care for me or not？ Eh？ Now’s the time to do me good service。… What sort of horses have you come with？ Eh？”
“As the messenger bade me； your favourite beasts；” said Balaga。
“Come； Balaga； do you hear？ You may kill all three of them； only get there in three hours。 Eh？”
“If I kill them； how are we to get there？” said Balaga； winking。
“None of your jokes now。 I’ll smash your face in！” cried Anatole suddenly； rolling his eyes。
“Jokes！” said the driver； laughing。 “Do I grudge anything for my gentlemen？ As fast as ever the horses can gallop we shall get there。”
“Ah！” said Anatole。 “Well； sit down。”
“Come； sit down；” said Dolohov。
“Oh； I’ll stand； Fyodor Ivanovitch。”
“Sit down； nonsense！ have a drink；” said Anatole； and he poured him out a big glass of madeira。 The driver’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the wine。 Refusing it at first for manners’ sake； he tossed it off； and wiped his mouth with a red silk handkerchief that lay in his cap。
“Well； and when are we to start； your excellency？”
“Oh…” Anatole looked at his watch。 “We must set off at once。 Now mind； Balaga。 Eh？ You’ll get there in time？”
“To be sure； if we’ve luck in getting off。 Why shouldn’t we do it in the time？” said Balaga。 “We got you to Tver； and got there in seven hours。 You remember； I bet； your excellency！”
“Do you know； I once drove from Tver at Christmas time；” said Anatole； with a smile at the recollection； addressing Makarin； who was gazing admiringly at him。 “Would you believe it； Makarka； one could hardly breathe we flew so fast。 We drove into a train of wagons and rode right over two of them！ Eh？”
“They were horses； too；” Balaga went on。 “I’d put two young horses in the traces with the bay in the shafts”—he turned to Dolohov—“and； would you believe me； Fyodor Ivanovitch； sixty versts those beasts galloped。 There was no holding them； for my hands were numb； it was a frost。 I flung down the reins。 “You hold them yourself； your excellency；” said I； and I rolled up inside the sledge。 No need of driving them。 Why； we couldn’t hold them in when we got there。 In three hours the devils brought us。 Only the left one died of it。”
Chapter 17
ANATOLE went out of the room； and a few minutes later he came back wearing a fur pelisse； girt with a silver belt； and a sable cap； jauntily stuck on one side； and very becoming to his handsome face。 Looking at himself in the looking…glass； and then standing before Dolohov in the same attitude he had taken before the looking…glass； he took a glass of wine。
“Well； Fedya； farewell； thanks for everything； and farewell；” said Anatole。 “Come； comrades； friends …”—he grew pensive—“of my youth … farewell；” he turned to Makarin and the others。
Although they were all going with him； Anatole evidently wanted to make a touching and solemn ceremony of this address to his comrades。 He spoke in a loud； deliberate voice； squaring his chest and swinging one leg。
“All take glasses； you too； Balaga。 Well； lads； friends of my youth； we have had jolly sprees together。 Eh？ Now； when shall we meet again？ I’m going abroad！ We’ve had a good time； and farewell； lads。 Here’s to our health！ Hurrah！ …” he said； tossing off his glass； and flinging it on the floor。
“To your health！” said Balaga。 He； too； emptied his glass and wiped his lips with his handkerchief。
Makarin embraced Anatole with tears in his eyes。
“Ah； prince； how it grieves my heart to part from you；” he said。
“Start！ start！” shouted Anatole。
Balaga was going out of the room。
“No； stay；” said Anatole。 “Shut the door； we must sit down。 Like this。” They shut the door and all sat down。
“Well； now； quick； march； lads！” said Anatole； getting up。
The valet； Joseph； gave Anatole his knapsack and sword； and they all went out into the vestibule。
“But where’s a fur cloak？” said Dolohov。 “Hey； Ignatka！ Run in to Matryona Matveyevna； and ask her for the sable cloak。 I’ve heard what elopements are like；” said Dolohov； winking。 “She’ll come skipping out more dead than alive just in the things she had on indoors； the slightest delay and then there are tears； and dear papa and dear mamma； and she’s frozen in a minute and for going back again—you wrap her up in a cloak at once and carry her to the sledge。”
The valet brought a woman’s fox…lined pelisse。
“Fool； I told you the sable。 Hey； Matryoshka； the sable；” he shouted； so that his voice rang out through the rooms。
A handsome； thin； and pale gypsy woman； with shining black eyes and curly black hair； with a bluish shade in it； ran out； wearing a red shawl and holding a sable cloak on her arm。
“Here； I don’t grudge it； take it；” she said； in v