Ermokhin and Sidorov came more often than the others. The former was a long, bow-backed Kalougan, with thick, strong veins all over him, a small head, and dull eyes. He was lazy and irritatingly stupid; he moved slowly and clumsily, and when he saw a woman he blinked and bent forward, just as if he were going to throw himself at her feet. All the yard was amazed by his swift conquest of the cooks and the maids, and envied him. They were all afraid of his bear-like strength. Sidorov, a lean, bony native of Tula, was always sad, spoke softly, and loved to gaze into dark corners. He would relate some incident in a low voice, or sit in silence, looking into the darkest corner. "What are you looking at?" "I thought I saw a mouse running about. I love mice; they run to and fro so quietly." I used to write letters home for these orderlies--love-letters. I liked this, but it was pleasanter to write letters for Sidorov than for any of the others. Every Saturday regularly he sent a letter to his sister at Tula. He invited me into his kitchen, sat down beside me at the table, and, rubbing his close-cropped hair hard, whispered in my ear: "Well, go on. Begin it as it ought to be begun. 'My dearest sister, may you be in good health for many years'--you know how it ought to go. And now write, 'I received the ruble; only you need not have sent it. But I thank you. I want for nothing; we live well here.' As a matter of fact, we do not live at all well, but like dogs; but there is no need to write that. Write that we live well. She is little, only fourteen years old. Why should she know? Now write by yourself, as you have been taught." He pressed upon me from the left side, breathing into my ear hotly and odorously, and whispered perseveringly: "Write 'if any one speaks tenderly to you, you are not to believe him. He wants to deceive you, and ruin you.'" His face was flushed by his effort to keep back a cough. Tears stood in his eyes. He leaned on the table and pushed against me. "You are hindering me!" "It is all right; go on! 'Above all, never believe gentlemen. They will lead a girl wrong the first time they see her. They know exactly what to say. And if you have saved any money, give it to the priest to keep for you, if he is a good man. But the best thing, is to bury it in the ground, and remember the spot.'" It was miserable work trying to listen to this whisper, which was drowned by the squeaking of the tin ventilator in the _fortochka._ I looked at the blackened front of the stove, at the china cupboard covered with flies. The kitchen was certainly very dirty, overrun with bugs, redolent with an acrid smell of burnt fat, kerosene, and smoke. On the stove, among the sticks of wood, cockroaches crawled in and out. A sense of melancholy stole over my heart. I could have cried with pity for the soldier and his sister. Was it possible, was it right that people should live like this?