uch."

Presently, with a nod towards Silantiev, he continued:

"Even now HIS kinsfolk or his wife may be looking for news of him, or a
letter from him. Well, never again will he write, and as likely as not
his kinsfolk will end by saying to themselves: 'He has taken to bad
ways, and forgotten his family.' Yes, good sir."

By this time the clamour around the barraque had ceased, and the two
fires had burnt themselves out, and most of the men dispersed. From the
smooth yellow walls of the barraque dark, round, knot-holes were gazing
at the rivulet like eyes. Only in a single window without a frame was
there visible a faint light, while at intervals there issued thence
fragmentary, angry exclamations such as:

"Look sharp there, and deal! Clubs will be the winners."

"Ah! Here is a trump!"

"Indeed? What luck, damn it!"

The fair-headed muzhik blew the ashes from his cigarette, and observed:

"No such thing is there at cards as luck--only skill."

At this juncture we saw approaching us softly from across the rivulet a
young carpenter who wore a moustache. He halted beside us, and drew a
deep breath.

"Well, mate?" the fair-headed muzhik inquired.

"Would you mind giving me something to smoke?" the carpenter asked. The
obscurity caused him to look large and shapeless, though his manner of
speaking was bashful and subdued.

"Certainly. Here is a cigarette."

"Christ reward you! Today my wife forgot to bring my tobacco, and my
grandfather has strict ideas on the subject of smoking."

"Was it he who departed just now? It was."

As the carpenter inhaled a whiff he continued:

"I suppose that man was beaten to death?"

"He was--to death."

For a while the pair smoked in silence. The hour was past midnight.

Over the defile the jagged strip of sky which roofed it looked like a
river of blue flowing at an immense height above the night-enveloped
earth, and bearing the brilliant stars on its smooth current.

Quieter and quieter was everything growing; more and more was
everything becoming part of the night....

One might have thought that nothing particular had happened.

KALININ

Whistling from off the sea, the wind was charged with moist, salt
spray, and dashing foaming billows ashore with their white manes full
of snakelike, gleaming black ribands of seaweed, and causing the rocks
to rumble angrily in response, and the trees to rustle with a dry,
agitated sound as their tops swayed to and fro,