and a black smoking-cap. This Jew, whose name was Girshel, was
continually hanging about our camp, offering his services as an agent,
getting us wine, provisions, and other such trifles. He was a thinnish,
red-haired, little man, marked with smallpox; he blinked incessantly
with his diminutive little eyes, which were reddish too; he had a long
crooked nose, and was always coughing.

He began fidgeting about me, bowing obsequiously.

'Well, what do you want?' I asked him at last.

'Oh, I only--I've only come, sir, to know if I can't be of use to your
honour in some way...'

'I don't want you; you can go.'

'At your honour's service, as you desire.... I thought there might be,
sir, something....'

'You bother me; go along, I tell you.'

'Certainly, sir, certainly. But your honour must permit me to
congratulate you on your success....'

'Why, how did you know?'

'Oh, I know, to be sure I do.... An immense sum... immense....Oh! how
immense....'

Girshel spread out his fingers and wagged his head.