The tense pause lasted a whole minute.
"So you're after my property, Holy Father?" said Ippolit Matveyevich through clenched teeth and kicked the holy father in the hip.
Father Theodore feinted and viciously kicked the marshal in the groin, making him double up.
"It's not your property."
"Whose then?"
"Not yours!"
"Whose then?"
"Not yours!"
"Whose then? Whose?"
Spitting at each other in this way, they kept kicking furiously.
"Whose property is it then?" screeched the marshal, sinking his foot in the holy father's stomach.
"It's nationalized property," said the holy father firmly, overcoming his pain.
"Nationalized? "
"Yes, nationalized."
They were jerking out the words so quickly that they ran together.
" Who-nationalized-it? "
"The-Soviet-Government.
The-Soviet-Government."
"Which-government? "
"The-working-people's-government."
"Aha!" said Ippolit Matveyevich icily. "The government of workers and peasants?"
"Yes!"
"Hmm . . . then maybe you're a member of the Communist Party, Holy Father?"
"Maybe I am!"
Ippolit Matveyevich could no longer restrain himself and with a shriek of "Maybe you are" spat juicily in Father Theodore's kindly face.
Father Theodore immediately spat in Ippolit Matveyevich's face and also found his mark.
They had nothing with which to wipe away the spittle since they were still holding the chair.
Ippolit Matveyevich made a noise like a door opening and thrust the chair at his enemy with all his might.
The enemy fell over, dragging the panting Vorobyaninov with him.
The struggle continued in the stalls.
Suddenly there was a crack and both front legs broke on simultaneous'y.
The opponents completely forgot one another and began tearing the walnut treasure-chest to pieces.
The flowered English chintz split with the heart-rending scream of a seagull.
The back was torn off by a mighty tug.
The treasure hunters ripped off the sacking together with the brass tacks and, grazing their hands on the springs, buried their fingers in the woollen stuffing.
The disturbed springs hummed.
Five minutes later the chair had been picked clean.
Bits and pieces were all that was left.
Springs rolled in all directions, and the wind blew the rotten padding all over the clearing.
The curved legs lay in a hole.
There were no jewels.
"Well, have you found anything?" asked Ippolit Matveyevich, panting.
Father Theodore, covered in tufts of wool, puffed and said nothing.
"You crook!" shouted Ippolit Matveyevich. "I'll break your neck, Father Theodore!"
"I'd like to see you! " retorted the priest.
"Where are you going all covered in fluff? "
"Mind your own business!"
"Shame on you, Father!
You're nothing but a thief!"
"I've stolen nothing from you."