eyes in silence.

"Well?" sternly demanded Tchelkache.

He was boiling over with rage at being insulted by this young boy, whom
he had despised even when talking with him, and whom he now began to
hate on account of his pure blue eyes, his healthy and sun-burned face
and his short, strong arms; because he had, somewhere yonder, a village
and a home in that village; because it had been proposed to him to
enter as son-in-law in a well-to-do family, and, above all, because
this being, who was only a child in comparison with himself, should
presume to like liberty, of which he did not know the worth and which
was useless to him. It is always disagreeable to see a person whom we
consider our inferior like, or dislike, the same things that we do and
to be compelled to admit that in that respect they are our equals.

The lad gazed at Tchelkache and felt that he had found his master.

"Why . . ." said he; "I consent. I'm willing. It's work that I'm
looking for. It's all the same to me whether I work with you or
someone else. I only said that because you don't seem like a man that
works . . . you are far too ragged. However, I know very well that
that may happen to anyone. Have I never seen a drunkard? Eh! How
many I've seen, and much worse than you!"

"Good! Then you consent?" asked Tchelkache, somewhat mollified.

"I, why yes, with pleasure. Name your price."

"My price depends upon the work. It's according to what we do and
take. You may perhaps receive five rubles. Do you understand?"

But now that it was a question of money, the peasant wanted a clear
understanding and exacted perfect frankness on the part of his master.
He again became distrustful and suspicious.

"That's scarcely to my mind, friend. I must have those five rubles in
my hand how."

Tchelkache humored him.

"Enough said, wait a little. Let us go to the tavern."

They walked side by side along the street; Tchelkache twisting his
moustache with the important air of an employer, the lad submissively,
but at the same time filled with distrust and fear.

"What's your name?" asked Tchelkache.

"Gavrilo," replied the lad.

When they had entered the dirty and smoky ale-house Tchelkache went up
to the bar and ordered, in the familiar tone of a regular customer, a
bottle of brandy, cabbage soup, roast beef and tea, and, after
enumerating the order, said briefly: "to be charged!" To which the boy
responded by a silent nod. At this,