"Certain!" murmured Gavrilo, following with greedy eyes the five
hundred and forty roubles as they again disappeared in the pocket.
"Ah! If it was only mine!" He sighed dejectedly.

"We'll have a lark, little one!" enthusiastically exclaimed Tchelkache!
"Have no fear: I'll pay you, brother. I'll give you forty rubles! Eh?
Are you pleased? Do you want your money now?"

"If you don't mind. Yes, I'll accept it!"

Gavrilo trembled with anticipation; a sharp, burning pain oppressed his
breast.

"Ha! ha! ha! Little devil! You'll accept it? Take it, brother, I beg
of you! I implore you, take it! I don't know where to put all this
money; relieve me, here!"

Tchelkache handed Gavrilo several ten ruble notes. The other took them
with a shaking hand, dropped the oars and proceeded to conceal his
booty in his blouse, screwing up his eyes greedily, and breathing
noisily as though he were drinking something hot. Tchelkache regarded
him ironically. Gavrilo seized the oars; he rowed in nervous haste,
his eyes lowered, as though he were afraid. His shoulders shook.

"My God, how greedy you are! That's bad. Besides, for a peasant. . ."

"Just think of what one can do with money!" exclaimed Gavrilo,
passionately. He began to talk brokenly and rapidly, as though
pursuing an idea, and seizing the words on the wing, of life in the
country with and without money. "Respect, ease, liberty, gaiety. . ."

Tchelkache listened attentively with a serious countenance and
inscrutable eyes. Occasionally, he smiled in a pleased manner.

"Here we are!" he said at last.

A wave seized hold of the boat and landed it high on the sand.

"Ended, ended, quite ended! We must draw the boat up farther, so that
it will be out of reach of the tide. They will come after it. And,
now, good-bye. The town is eight versts from here. You'll return to
town, eh?"

Tchelkache's face still beamed with a slily good-natured smile; he
seemed to be planning something pleasant for himself and a surprise for
Gavrilo. He put his hand in his pocket and rustled the bank-notes.

"No, I'm not going. . . I. . ."

Gavrilo stifled and choked. He was shaken by a storm of conflicting
desires, words and feelings. He burned as though on fire.

Tchelkache gazed at him with astonishment.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked.

"Nothing."

But Gavrilo's face grew red and then ashy pale. The lad moved his feet
restlessly as though he would ha