ew ones, and in that very fact, it may be, lies the
secret of their unwearying amiability.

Ascending by the narrow path to the Elizaveta spring, I overtook a crowd
of officials and military men, who, as I subsequently learned, compose a
class apart amongst those who place their hopes in the medicinal waters.
They drink--but not water--take but few walks, indulge in only mild
flirtations, gamble, and complain of boredom.

They are dandies. In letting their wicker-sheathed tumblers down into
the well of sulphurous water they assume academical poses. The officials
wear bright blue cravats; the military men have ruffs sticking out above
their collars. They affect a profound contempt for provincial ladies,
and sigh for the aristocratic drawing-rooms of the capitals--to which
they are not admitted.

Here is the well at last!... Upon the small square adjoining it a little
house with a red roof over the bath is erected, and somewhat further on
there is a gallery in which the people walk when it rains. Some wounded
officers were sitting--pale and melancholy--on a bench, with their
crutches drawn up. A few ladies, their tumbler of water finished, were
walking with rapid steps to and fro about the square. There were two or
three pretty faces amongst them. Beneath the avenues of the vines with
which the slope of Mashuk is covered, occasional glimpses could be
caught of the gay-coloured hat of a lover of solitude for two--for
beside that hat I always noticed either a military forage-cap or the
ugly round hat of a civilian. Upon the steep cliff, where the pavilion
called "The Aeolian Harp" is erected, figured the lovers of scenery,
directing their telescopes upon Elbruz. Amongst them were a couple of
tutors, with their pupils who had come to be cured of scrofula.

Out of breath, I came to a standstill at the edge of the mountain, and,
leaning against the corner of a little house, I began to examine the
picturesque surroundings, when suddenly I heard behind me a familiar
voice.

"Pechorin! Have you been here long?"

I turned round. Grushnitski! We embraced. I had made his acquaintance
in the active service detachment. He had been wounded in the foot by a
bullet and had come to the waters a week or so before me.

Grushnitski is a cadet; he has only been a year in the service. From
a kind of foppery peculiar to himself, he wears the thick cloak of a
common soldier. He has also the soldier's cross of St. George. He is
well built