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Here, wiping with his handkerchief the soiled base of the box, he

showed them a little painted army, like a swarm of flies: in the

middle sat a man on a charger, the size of a beetle, evidently

the leader of the troop; he had made his horse rear, as though he

wanted to leap into the skies; one hand he held on the bridle,

the other up to his nose.

"Gaze," said Robak, "at that threatening form, and guess whose it

is."

All looked with curiosity.

"That is a great man, an emperor, but not of the Muscovites;

their tsars have never used tobacco."

"A great man," cried Cydzik, "and in a long grey coat? I thought

that great men wore gold, for among the Muscovites any sort of a

general, sir, fairly shines with gold, like a pike in saffron."

"Bah!" interrupted Rymsza; "why, in my youth I saw Kosciuszko,

the chief of our nation: he was a great man, but he wore a Cracow

peasant's coat, that is to say, a czamara."

"Much he wore a czamara!" retorted Wilbik. "They used to call it

a taratatka."82