“It is bad luck,” said one of the young fellows, “to be so near the end
and not be able to get there. There will perhaps be a battle to-day,
even, and we will not be in it.”
The sympathetic timidity of a young man who fears to say something out
of place could be guessed from the slightly sharp sound of his voice,
and from the youthful rosiness which spread in patches over his fresh
face.
The one-armed officer looked at him with a smile.
“You will have time enough, believe me,” he said.
The young officer respectfully turning his eyes upon the thin face of
the latter suddenly lighted up by a smile, continued to pour the tea in
silence. And truly the figure, the position of the wounded man, and,
above all, the fluttering sleeve of his uniform, gave him that
appearance of calm indifference which seemed to reply to everything
said and done about him, “All this is very well, but I know it all, and
I could do it if I wanted to.”
“What shall we decide to do?” asked the young officer of his comrade
with the Circassian coat. “Shall we pass the night here, or shall we
push on with our single horse?
“Just think of it, captain,” he continued, when his companion had
declined his suggestion (he spoke to the one-armed man, picking up a
knife he had dropped), “since they told us that horses could not be had
at Sebastopol at any price, we bought one out of the common purse at
Sympheropol.”
“Did they skin you well?”
“I don’t know anything about it, captain. We paid for the whole thing,
horse and wagon, ninety rubles. Is it very dear?” he added, addressing
all who looked at him, Koseltzoff included.
“It isn’t too dear if the horse is young,” said the latter.
“Isn’t it? Nevertheless, we have been assured it was dear. He limps a
little, it is true, but that will go off. They told us he was very
strong.”
“What institution are you from?” Koseltzoff asked him, wishing to get
news of his brother.
“We belonged to the regiment of the nobility. There are six of us who
are going of our own accord to Sebastopol,” replied the loquacious
little officer, “but we don’t exactly know where our battery is. Some
say at Sebastopol, but this gentleman says it is at Odessa.”
“Wouldn’t you have been able to find out at Sympheropol?” asked
Koseltzoff.
“They didn’t know anything there. Imagine it. They insulted one of our
comrades who went to the government office for information! It was very
disagreeable. Wouldn’t you like to have this cigarette, already rolled?”
he continued, offering it to the one-armed officer, who was looking for
his cigar-case.
The young man’s enthusiasm even entered into the little attentions he
showered on him.
“You have also just come from Sebastopol?” he rejoined. “Heavens, how
astonishing! At Petersburg we did nothing but think of you all, you
heroes!” he added, turning to Koseltzoff with good-fellowship and
respect.
“What if you are obliged to go back there?” asked the latter.
“That’s just what we are afraid of; for after having bought the horse
and what we had to get--this coffee-pot, for example, and a few other
trifles--we are left without a penny,” he said, in a lower tone, casting
a look at his companion on the sly, “so that we don’t know how we are
going to get out of it.”
“You haven’t received money on the road, then?” Koseltzoff asked him.
“No,” murmured the young man, “but they promised to give it to us here.”
“Have you the certificate?”
“I know the certificate is the chief thing. One of my uncles, a Senator
at Moscow, could have given it to me, but I was assured I should receive
it here without fail.”
“Doubtless.”
“I believe it also,” replied the young officer, in a tone which proved
that after having repeated the same question in thirty different places,
and having received different replies everywhere, he no longer believed
any one.