“Patience, my lord, patience,” said Ivan, still delaying the whipping, in the hope that some sign might yet be made from the inexorable window.  “I have a knot in my knout, and if I leave it Gregory will have good right to complain.”

The instrument with which the executioner was busying himself, and which is perhaps unknown to our readers, was a species of whip, with a handle about two feet long.  A plaited leather thong, about four feet long and two inches broad, was attached to this handle, this thong terminating in an iron or copper ring, and to this another band of leather was fastened, two feet long, and at the beginning about one and a half inches thick:  this gradually became thinner, till it ended in a point.  The thong was steeped in milk and then dried in the sun, and on account of this method of preparation its edge became as keen and cutting as a knife; further, the thong was generally changed at every sixth stroke, because contact with blood softened it.

However unwillingly and clumsily Ivan set about untying the knot, it had to come undone at last.  Besides, the bystanders were beginning to grumble, and their muttering disturbed the reverie into which the young aide-de-camp had fallen.  He raised his head, which had been sunk on his breast, and cast a last look towards the window; then with a peremptory sign; and in a voice which admitted of no delay, he ordered the execution to proceed.

Nothing could put it off any longer:  Ivan was obliged to obey, and he did not attempt to find any new pretext for delay.  He drew back two paces, and with a spring he returned to his place, and standing on tiptoe, he whirled the knout above his head, and then letting it suddenly fall, he struck Gregory with such dexterity that the lash wrapped itself thrice round his victim’s body, encircling him like a serpent, but the tip of the thong struck the plank upon which Gregory was lying.  Nevertheless, in spite of this precaution, Gregory uttered a loud shriek, and Ivan counted “One.”

At the shriek, the young aide-de-camp again turned towards the window; but it was still shut, and mechanically his eyes went back to the culprit, and he repeated the word “One.”

The knout had traced three blue furrows on Gregory’s shoulders.  Ivan took another spring, and with the same skill as before he again enveloped the culprit’s body with the hissing thong, ever taking care that the tip of it should not touch him.  Gregory uttered another shriek, and Ivan counted “Two.”  The blood now began to colour the skin.

At the third stroke several drops of blood appeared; at the fourth the blood spurted out; at the fifth some drops spattered the young officer’s face; he drew back, and wiped them away with his handkerchief.  Ivan profited by his distraction, and counted seven instead of six:  the captain took no notice.  At the ninth stroke Ivan stopped to change the lash, and in the hope that a second fraud might pass off as luckily as the first, he counted eleven instead of ten.