brought them
forth, adorned them with a fringe of foam, tumbled them over each other
and broke them into spray. The foam as it melted sighed and the air
was filled with harmonious sounds and the plashing of water. The
darkness seemed to be alive.

"Well! tell me . . ." began Tchelkache. "You'll return to the village,
you'll marry, you'll set to work to plough and sow, your wife'll
present you with many children, you'll not have enough bread and you'll
just manage to keep soul and body together all your life! So . . . is
it such a pleasant prospect?"

"What pleasure can there be in that?" timidly and shudderingly replied
Gavrilo. "What can one do?"

Here and there, the clouds were rent by the wind and, through the
spaces, the cold sky studded with a few stars looked down. Reflected
by the joyous sea, these stars leaped upon the waves, now disappearing,
now shining brightly.

"More to the left!" said Tchelkache. "We shall soon be there, Yes!
. . . it is ended. We've done a good stroke of work. In a single
night, you understand--five hundred rubles gained! Isn't that doing
well, say?"

"Five hundred rubles!" repeated Gavrilo, distrustfully, but he was
immediately seized with fright and quickly asked, kicking the bales at
the bottom of the boat: "What are those things?"

"That's silk. A very dear thing. If it were to be sold for its real
value, it would bring a thousand rubles. But I don't raise the price
. . . clever that, eh?"

"Is it possible?" asked Gavrilo. "If I only had as much!"

He sighed at the thought of the country, of his miserable life, his
toil, his mother and all those far-distant and dear things for which he
had gone away to work, and for which he had suffered so much that
night. A wave of memory swept over him: he saw his village on a
hill-side with the river at the bottom, hidden by birches, willows,
mountain-ash and wild cherry trees. The picture breathed some life in
him and gave him a little strength.

"Oh, Lord, how much good it would do!" he sighed, sadly.

"Yes! I imagine that you'd very quickly board the train
and--good-evening! Oh, how the girls would love you, yonder, in the
village! You could have your pick. You could have a new house built.
But for a new house, there might not be enough . . ."

"That's true. A house, no; wood is very dear with us."

"Never mind, you could have the one that you have repaired. Do you own
a horse?"

"A horse? Yes, there's on