“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. V. “Who ordered beet soup?” shouted the house-keeper at this moment, a stout, slovenly dressed wench, about forty years old, who was bringing in a great earthen dish. There was a general silence, and every eye was turned towards the woman. One of the officers even winked, exchanging with his comrade a look which plainly referred to the matron. “But it was Koseltzoff who ordered it,” rejoined the young officer; “we must wake him up. Halloo! come and eat,” he added, approaching the sleeper and shaking him by the shoulder. A youth of seventeen years, with black, lively, sparkling eyes and red cheeks, rose with a bound, and having involuntarily pushed against the doctor, said, “A thousand pardons!” rubbing his eyes and standing in the middle of the room. Sub-lieutenant Koseltzoff immediately recognized his younger brother and went up to him. “Do you know me?” he asked. “Oh, oh, what an astonishing thing!” cried the younger, embracing him. Two kisses were heard, but just as they were about to give each other a third, as the custom is, they hesitated a moment. It might have been said that each asked himself why he must kiss three times. “How glad I am to see you!” said the elder, leading his brother outside. “Let’s chat a bit.” “Come, come! I don’t want any soup now. Eat it up, Féderson,” said the youth to his comrade. “But you were hungry--” “No, I don’t want it now.” Once outside on the piazza, after the first joyous outbursts of the youth, who went on to ask his brother questions without speaking to him of that which concerned himself, the latter, profiting by a moment of silence, asked him why he had not gone into the guard, as they had expected him to do. “Because I wanted to go to Sebastopol. If everything comes out all right, I shall gain more than if I had remained in the guard. In that branch of the service you have to count ten years to the rank of colonel, while here Todtleben has gone from lieutenant-colonel to general in two years. And if I am killed, well, then, what’s to be done?” “How you do argue,” said the elder brother, with a smile. “And then, that I have just told you is of no importance. The chief reason”--and he stopped, hesitating, smiling in his turn, and blushing as if he were going to say something very shameful--“the chief reason is that my conscience bothered me. I felt scruples at living in Petersburg while men are dying here for their country. I counted also on being with you,” he added, still more bashfully.