person, beamed
with conscious pride.

"I meant to have given you more. I pitied you yesterday. I thought of
the village. I said to myself: 'I'll help this boy.' I was waiting to
see what you'd do, whether you'd ask me or not. And now, see!
tatterdemalion, beggar, that you are! . . . Is it right to work
oneself up to such a state for money . . . to suffer like that?
Imbeciles, greedy devils who forget . . . who would sell themselves for
five kopeks, eh?"

"Friend . . . Christ's blessing on you! What is this? What?
Thousands? . . . I'm a rich man, now!" screamed Gavrilo, in a frenzy of
delight, hiding the money in his blouse. "Ah! dear man! I shall, never
forget this! never! And I'll beg my wife and children to pray for you."

Tchelkache listened to these cries of joy, gazed at this face,
irradiated and disfigured by the passion of covetousness; he felt that
he himself, the thief and vagabond, freed from all restraining
influence, would never become so rapacious, so vile, so lost to all
decency. Never would he sink so low as that! Lost in these
reflections, which brought to him the consciousness of his liberty and
his audacity, he remained beside Gavrilo on the lonely shore.

"You have made me happy!" cried Gavrilo, seizing Tchelkache's hand and
laying it against his cheek.

Tchelkache was silent and showed his teeth like a wolf. Gavrilo
continued to pour out his heart.

"What an idea that was of mine! We were rowing here . . . I saw the
money . . . I said to myself:

"Suppose I were to give him . . . give you . . . a blow with the oar
. . . just one! The money would be mine; as for him, I'd throw him in
the sea . . . you, you understand? Who would ever notice his
disappearance? And if you were found, no inquest would be made: who,
how, why had you been killed? You're not the kind of man for whom any
stir would be made! You're of no use on the earth! Who would take
your part? That's the way it would be! Eh?"

"Give back that money!" roared Tchelkache, seizing Gavrilo by the
throat.

Gavrilo struggled, once, twice . . . but Tchelkache's other arm
entwined itself like a serpent around him . . . a noise of tearing
linen,--and Gavrilo slipped to the ground with bulging eyes, catching
at the air with his hands and waving his legs. Tchelkache, erect,
spare, like a wild beast, showed his teeth wickedly and laughed
harshly, while his moustache worked nervously on his sharp, angular
face.