“Sit down, gentlemen,” he said, rising to go into the tent. “Can I offer you a little porter?” “I agree to porter, Vassili Mikhaïlovitch.” Volodia, on whom a profound impression was produced by the grand airs of the officer, as well as by his carelessness and by the respect his brother showed him, said to himself timidly, sitting on the edge of the lounge, “This officer, whom everybody respects, is doubtless a good fellow, hospitable, and probably very brave.” “Where is our regiment, then?” asked the elder brother from the officer, who had disappeared in the tent. “What do you say?” shouted the latter. The other repeated his question. “I saw Seifer to-day,” he replied; “he told me it was in the fifth bastion.” “Is it, sure?” “If I say so it is sure. However, devil take him! he lies cheaply enough! Say,” he added, “will you have some porter?” “I would gladly take a drink,” replied Koseltzoff. “And you, Ossip Ignatievitch,” continued the same voice in the tent, addressing the sleeping commissary, “will you have a drink? You have slept enough; it is almost five o’clock.” “Enough of that old joke. You see well enough that I am not asleep,” replied a shrill and lazy voice. “Get up, then, for I am tired of it,” and the officer rejoined his guests. “Give us some Sympheropol porter!” he shouted to his servant. The latter, pushing against Volodia proudly, as it appeared to the young man, pulled out from under the bench a bottle of the porter called for. The bottle had been empty some time, but the conversation was still going on, when the flap of the tent was put aside to let pass a small man in a blue dressing-gown with cord and tassel, and a cap trimmed with red braid and ornamented with a cockade. With lowered eyes, and twisting his black mustache, he only replied to the officer’s salute by an imperceptible movement of the shoulders. “Give me a glass,” he said, sitting down near the table. “Surely you have just come from Petersburg, young man?” he said, addressing Volodia with an amiable air. “Yes, and I am going to Sebastopol.” “Of your own accord?” “Yes.” “Why in the devil are you going, then? Gentlemen, really I don’t understand that,” continued the commissary. “It seems to me, if I could, I would go back to Petersburg on foot. I have had my bellyful of this cursed existence.” “But what are you grumbling at?” asked the elder Koseltzoff. “You are leading a very enviable life here.” The commissary, surprised, cast a look at him, turned around, and addressing Volodia, said, “This constant danger, these privations, for it is impossible to get anything--all that is terrible. I really cannot understand you, gentlemen. If you only got some advantage out of it! But is it agreeable, I ask you, to become at your age good-for-nothing for the rest of your days?” “Some try to make money, some serve for honor,” replied Koseltzoff the elder, vexed.