"Recruit in the 6th Company, Sharafutdinov, your Excellency," the Tartar answered in a strained and hoarse voice. "Fool! I mean, of course, what post are you supposed to occupy?" The soldier, who was frightened by his Commander's angry tone, was silent: he could only produce one or two nervous twitchings of the eyebrows. "Well?" Shulgovich raised his voice. "I--am--standing--on guard," the Tartar at last spluttered out, chancing it. "I cannot--understand, your Excellency," he went on to say, but he relapsed into silence again, and stood motionless. The Colonel's face assumed a dark brick colour, a shade with a touch of blue about it, and his bushy eyebrows began to pucker in an alarming way. Beside himself with fury, he turned round and said in a sharp tone-- "Who is the youngest officer here?" Romashov stepped forward and touched his cap. "I am, Colonel." "Ha--Sub-lieutenant Romashov, you evidently train your men well. Stand at attention and stretch your legs," bawled Shulgovich suddenly, his eyes rolling. "Don't you know how to stand in the presence of your commanding officer? Captain Sliva, I beg to inform you that your subaltern officer has been lacking in the respect due to his chief. And you, you miserable cur," he now turned towards the unhappy Sharafutdinov, "tell me the name of your Commander." "I don't know," replied Sharafutdinov quickly, but in a firm tone in which, nevertheless, a melancholy resignation might be detected. "Oh, _I_ ask you the name of your Colonel. Do you know who I am? I--I--I!" and Shulgovich drummed with the flat of his hand several times on his broad chest. "I don't know." The Colonel delivered himself of a string of about twenty words of cynical abuse. "Captain Sliva, I order you at once to exhibit this son of a sea-cook, so that all may see him, with rifle and heavy accoutrements, and let him stand there till he rots. And as for you, Sub-lieutenant, I know well enough that loose women and flirtation interest you more than the service does. In waltzing and reading Paul de Kock you're said to be an authority, but as to performing your duties, instructing your men--that, of course, is beneath your dignity. Just look at this creature" (he gave Sharafutdinov a sound slap on the mouth)--"is this a Russian soldier? No, he's a brute beast, who does not even recognize his own commanding officer. You ought to be ashamed of yourself." Romashov stared speechlessly at his chief's red and rage-distorted countenance. He felt his heart threatening to burst with shame and indignation. Suddenly, almost unconsciously, he burst out in a hollow voice-- "Colonel, this fellow is a Tartar and does not understand a word of our language, and besides...." But he did not finish his sentence. Shulgovich's features had that very instant undergone a ghastly change. His whole countenance was as white as a corpse's, his withered cheeks were transfused with sharp, nervous puckers, and his eyes assumed a terrible expression.