"Is that the way to hold a rifle? Any one would think you were a deacon holding a candle! What are you keeping your mouth open for, Kartashov? Do you want some porridge? Sergeant-major, put Kartashov under arms for an hour after drill. How do you fold up a cloak, Vedenyeev? Look at it, you lazy fellow!" After the shooting practice the men piled their rifles and threw themselves down beside them on the young spring grass, already trampled on by the soldiers' boots. It was a warm, clear day. The air smelled of the leaves of young poplar trees, of which there were two rows planted round the causeway. Viätkin again approached Romashov: "Dreaming again, Yuri Alexeich," he said. "What is the use of it? As soon as the drill is over we will go to the club, and after a drink or two you will be all right." "I am bored, my dear Pavel Pavlich," said Romashov wearily. "It is not very cheerful, I admit," said Viätkin. "But how can it be helped? The men must be taught their business, or what would happen if war suddenly broke out?" "What is war after all?" said Romashov sadly, "and why----? Perhaps it is nothing more than a mistake made by all, a universal error, a madness. Do you mean to tell me that it is natural to kill?" "Oh, the devil take your philosophy! If the Germans were to attack us suddenly, who would defend Russia?" "I know nothing about it, so I can't talk about it," said Romashov shortly. "I know nothing, and yet, take----" "For my part," said Viätkin, "I think that if those are your ideas about war, it would be better for you to be out of the service. We are not supposed to think in our profession. The only question is, What could we do if we were not in the service? What use should we be anywhere when we know nothing but 'Left! Right!' We can die, of course, that is true. And die we should, as soon as we began to be in want, for food is not provided gratis, you know. And so, Mr. Philosopher, come to the club with me after drill." "Very well," agreed Romashov indifferently. "If you ask me, I should say that it's a hog's life that we are leading; but, as you say, if one thinks so it is better to leave the service altogether." While they talked they walked up and down, and at length halted close to the 4th platoon. The soldiers were sitting or lying around their piled arms; some of them were eating bread, for soldiers eat bread all day long, and under all circumstances, at reviews, at halting-places in the manoeuvres, in church before confession, and even before physical punishment. Romashov heard a quietly provocative voice say: "Khliabnikov! I say, Khliabnikov!" "Yes?" said Khliabnikov gruffly, through his nose. "What do you do at home?" "Work," answered the other sleepily. "What kind of work, you blockhead?" "All kinds--ploughing, cattle driving." Romashov glanced at the grey, pitiful face of Khliabnikov, and again was seized by an uneasy pain at his heart.