“Who ordered beet-soup?” called out the slatternly mistress of the
house, a fat woman of forty, as she entered the room with a bowl of
soup.
The conversation ceased at once, and all who were in the room fixed
their eyes on the woman.
“Ah, it was Kozeltzoff who ordered it,” said the young officer. “He
must be waked. Get up for your dinner,” he said, approaching the
sleeper on the sofa, and jogging his elbow.
A young lad of seventeen, with merry black eyes and red cheeks, sprang
energetically from the sofa, and stood in the middle of the room,
rubbing his eyes.
“Ah, excuse me, please,” he said to the doctor, whom he had touched in
rising.
Lieutenant Kozeltzoff recognized his brother immediately, and stepped
up to him.
“Don't you know me?” he said with a smile.
“A-a-a-!” exclaimed the younger brother; “this is astonishing!” And he
began to kiss his brother.
They kissed twice, but stopped at the third repetition as though the
thought had occurred to both of them:—
“Why is it necessary to do it exactly three times?”
“Well, how delighted I am!” said the elder, looking at his brother.
“Let us go out on the porch; we can have a talk.”
“Come, come, I don't want any soup. You eat it, Federsohn!” he said to
his comrade.
“But you wanted something to eat.”
“I don't want anything.”
When they emerged on the porch, the younger kept asking his brother:
“Well, how are you; tell me all about it.” And still he kept on saying
how glad he was to see him, but he told nothing himself.
When five minutes had elapsed, during which time they had succeeded in
becoming somewhat silent, the elder brother inquired why the younger
had not gone into the guards, as they had all expected him to do.
He wanted to get to Sevastopol as speedily as possible, he said; for
if things turned out favorably there, he could get advancement more
rapidly there than in the guards. There it takes ten years to reach
the grade of colonel, while here Todleben had risen in two years from
lieutenant-colonel to general. Well, and if one did get killed, there
was nothing to be done.
“What a fellow you are!” said his brother, smiling.
“But the principal thing, do you know, brother,” said the younger,
smiling and blushing as though he were preparing to say something
very disgraceful, “all this is nonsense, and the principal reason why
I asked it was that I was ashamed to live in Petersburg when men are
dying for their country here. Yes, and I wanted to be with you,” he
added, with still greater shamefacedness.
“How absurd you are!” said the elder brother, pulling out his
cigarette-machine, and not even glancing at him. “It's a pity, though,
that we can't be together.”
“Now, honestly, is it so terrible in the bastions?” inquired the
younger man, abruptly.
“It is terrible at first, but you get used to it afterwards. It's
nothing. You will see for yourself.”
“And tell me still another thing. What do you think?—will Sevastopol be
taken? I think that it will not.”
“God knows!”
“But one thing is annoying. Just imagine what bad luck! A whole bundle
was stolen from us on the road, and it had my shako in it, so that
now I am in a dreadful predicament; and I don't know how I am to show
myself.”
The younger Kozeltzoff, Vladímir, greatly resembled his brother
Mikháïl, but he resembled him as a budding rose-bush resembles one
that is out of flower. His hair was chestnut also, but it was thick
and lay in curls on his temples. On the soft white back of his neck
there was a blond lock; a sign of good luck, so the nurses say. The
full-blooded crimson of youth did not stand fixed on the soft, white
hue of his face, but flashed up and betrayed all the movements of his
mind. He had the same eyes as his brother, but they were more widely
opened, and clearer, which appeared the more peculiar because they were
veiled frequently by a slight moisture. A golden down was sprouting
on his cheeks, and over his ruddy lips, which were often folded into
a shy smile, displaying teeth of dazzling whiteness. He was a well
formed and broad-shouldered fellow, in unbuttoned coat, from beneath
which was visible a red shirt with collar turned back. As he stood
before his brother, leaning his elbows on the railing of the porch,
with cigarette in hand and innocent joy in his face and gesture, he was
so agreeable and comely a youth that any one would have gazed at him
with delight. He was extremely pleased with his brother, he looked at
him with respect and pride, fancying him his hero; but in some ways, so
far as judgments on worldly culture, ability to talk French, behavior
in the society of distinguished people, dancing, and so on, he was
somewhat ashamed of him, looked down on him, and even cherished a hope
of improving him if such a thing were possible.
All his impressions, so far, were from Petersburg, at the house of
a lady who was fond of good-looking young fellows, and who had had
him spend his holidays with her, and from Moscow, at the house of a
senator, where he had once danced at a great ball.