Sevastopol (Ukraine) -- History -- Siege, 1854-1855 -- Fiction
“Go straight to Sebastopol,” he said to himself, “be exposed to
shells--it is terrible! However, isn’t it all the same whether it is
to-day or later? At least with my brother--”
To tell the truth, at the thought that the carriage would carry him as
far as Sebastopol in a single trip, that no new incident would delay him
longer on the road, he began to appreciate the danger he had come to
meet, and the proximity of it profoundly moved him. Having succeeded in
calming himself at last, he rejoined his comrades, and remained such a
long time with them that his brother, out of patience, opened the door
to call him, and saw him standing before the officer, who was scolding
him like a school-boy. At the sight of his brother his countenance fell.
“I’ll come at once,” he shouted, making a gesture with his hand; “wait
for me, I’m coming!”
A moment later he went to find him.
“Just think,” he said, with a deep sigh, “I can’t go off with you.”
“Stuff and nonsense! Why not?”
“I am going to tell you the truth, Micha. We haven’t a penny; on the
other hand, we owe money to that captain. It is horribly shameful!”
The elder brother scowled and kept silent.
“Do you owe much?” he asked at last, without looking at him.
“No, not much; but it worries me awfully. He paid three posts for me. I
used his sugar, and then we played the game of preference, and I owe him
a trifle on that.”
“That’s bad, Volodia! What would you have done if you hadn’t met me?”
said the elder, in a stern tone, never looking at him.
“But you know I count on receiving my travelling expenses at
Sebastopol, and then I shall pay him. That can still be done; and so I
had rather go there with him to-morrow.”
At this moment the elder brother took a purse out of his pocket, from
which his trembling fingers drew two notes of ten rubles each and one of
three.
“Here’s all I have,” said he. “How much do you want?” He exaggerated a
little in saying that it was all his fortune, for he still had four
gold-pieces sewn in the seams of his uniform, but he had promised
himself not to touch them.
It was found, on adding up, that Koseltzoff owed only eight rubles--the
loss on the game and the sugar together. The elder brother gave them to
him, making the remark that one never ought to play when he had not the
wherewithal to pay. The younger said nothing; for his brother’s remark
seemed to throw a doubt on his honesty. Irritated, ashamed of having
done something which could lead to suspicions or reflections on his
character on the part of his brother, of whom he was fond, his sensitive
nature was so violently agitated by it that, feeling it impossible to
stifle the sobs which choked him, he took the note without a word and
carried it to his comrade.
VII.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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