ecoming the husband of some rich girl who
would remain at home. His face grew dull and sad. He moved restlessly
about on the ground; this roused Tchelkache from the reflections in
which his speech had plunged him.

Tchelkache felt that he had no more desire to talk, but he nevertheless
asked:

"Where are you going, now?"

"Where am I going? Home, of course!"

"Why of course? . . . Perhaps you'd like to go to Turkey."

"To Turkey?" drawled the boy. "Do Christians go there? What do you
mean by that?"

"What an imbecile you are!" sighed Tchelkache, and he again turned his
back on his interlocutor, thinking this time that he would not
vouchsafe him another word. This robust peasant awakened something
obscure within him.

A confused feeling was gradually growing up, a kind of vexation was
stirring the depths of his being and preventing him from concentrating
his thoughts upon what he had to do that night.

The lad whom he had just insulted muttered something under his breath
and looked askance at him. His cheeks were comically puffed out, his
lips pursed up, and he half closed his eyes in a laughable manner.
Evidently he had not expected that his conversation with this
moustached person would end so quickly and in a manner so humiliating
for him.

Tchelkache paid no more attention to him. Sitting on the block, he
whistled absent-mindedly and beat time with his bare and dirty heel.

The boy longed to be revenged.

"Hey! Fisherman! Are you often drunk?" he began; but at the same
instant the fisherman turned quickly around and asked:

"Listen, youngster! Do you want to work with me to-night? Eh? Answer
quick."

"Work at what?" questioned the boy, distrustfully.

"At what I shall tell you. . . We'll go fishing. You shall row. . ."

"If that's it . . . why not? All right! I know how to work. . . Only
suppose anything happens to me with you; you're not reassuring, with
your mysterious airs. . ."

Tchelkache felt a burning sensation in his breast and said with
concentrated rage:

"Don't talk about what yon can't understand, or else, I'll hit yon on
the head so hard that your ideas will soon clear up."

He jumped up, pulling his moustache with his left hand and doubling his
right fist all furrowed with knotted veins and hard as iron; his eyes
flashed.

The lad was afraid. He glanced quickly around him and, blinking
timidly, also jumped up on his feet. They measured each other with
their