"Well, my little father," said he, after he had finished the letter and put my commission aside, "all shall be done; you shall be an officer in the ----th Regiment, and you shall go to-morrow to Fort Bélogorsk, where you will serve under the orders of Commandant Mironoff, a brave and worthy man. There you will really serve and learn discipline. There is nothing for you to do at Orenburg; amusement is bad for a young man. To-day I invite you to dine with me." "Worse and worse," thought I to myself. "What good has it done me to have been a sergeant in the Guard from my cradle? Where has it brought me? To the ----th Regiment, and to a fort stranded on the frontier of the Kirghiz-Kaïsak Steppes!" I dined at Andréj Karlovitch's, in the company of his old aide de camp. Strict German economy was the rule at his table, and I think that the dread of a frequent guest at his bachelor's table contributed not a little to my being so promptly sent away to a distant garrison. The next day I took leave of the General, and started for my destination. CHAPTER III. THE LITTLE FORT. The little fort of Bélogorsk lay about forty versts[28] from Orenburg. From this town the road followed along by the rugged banks of the R. Yaïk. The river was not yet frozen, and its lead-coloured waves looked almost black contrasted with its banks white with snow. Before me stretched the Kirghiz Steppes. I was lost in thought, and my reverie was tinged with melancholy. Garrison life did not offer me much attraction. I tried to imagine what my future chief, Commandant Mironoff, would be like. I saw in my mind's eye a strict, morose old man, with no ideas beyond the service, and prepared to put me under arrest for the smallest trifle. Twilight was coming on; we were driving rather quickly. "Is it far from here to the fort?" I asked the driver. "Why, you can see it from here," replied he. I began looking all round, expecting to see high bastions, a wall, and a ditch. I saw nothing but a little village, surrounded by a wooden palisade. On one side three or four haystacks, half covered with snow; on another a tumble-down windmill, whose sails, made of coarse limetree bark, hung idly down. "But where is the fort?" I asked, in surprise. "There it is yonder, to be sure," rejoined the driver, pointing out to me the village which we had just reached. I noticed near the gateway an old iron cannon. The streets were narrow and crooked, nearly all the _izbás_[29] were thatched. I ordered him to take me to the Commandant, and almost directly my _kibitka_ stopped before a wooden house, built on a knoll near the church, which was also in wood. No one came to meet me. From the steps I entered the ante-room. An old pensioner, seated on a table, was busy sewing a blue patch on the elbow of a green uniform. I begged him to announce me. "Come in, my little father," he said to me; "we are all at home."