Yes, that's a galley slave for you!" Taras glanced at his father with a firm look and asked him drily: "By the way, what makes you think that I was a convict ?" The old man glanced at his son with astonishment, which was quickly changed into joy: "Ah! What then?
You were not?
The devil take them! Then--how was it?
Don't take offence! How could I know?
They said you were in Siberia! Well, and there are the galleys!" "To make an end of this once for all," said Taras, seriously and impressively, clapping his hand on his knee, "I'll tell you right now how it all happened.

I was banished to Siberia to settle there for six years, and, during all the time of my exile, I lived in the mining region of the Lena.

In Moscow I was imprisoned for about nine months.
That's all!" "So-o! But what does it mean ?" muttered Yakov Tarasovich, with confusion and joy.
"And here they circulated that absurd rumour." "That's right--it is absurd indeed!" said the old man, distressed.
"And it did a pretty great deal of harm on a certain occasion." "Really?
Is that possible ?" "Yes.

I was about to go into business for myself, and my credit was ruined on account of--" "Pshaw!" said Yakov Tarasovich, as he spat angrily.

"Oh, devil! Come, come, is that possible ?" Foma sat all this time in his corner, listening to the conversation between the Mayakins, and, blinking perplexedly, he fixedly examined the newcomer.