"Last night," began Lbov, who could hardly get his words out for laughing--"last night, when the drill was over, I went to my quarters. It was past eight, and quite dark then. As I was approaching the barracks of the 11th Company I heard some ear-piercing music from there. I go there and am told that the men are being taught our horn signals. All the recruits were obliged to sing in chorus. It was a hideous concert, and I asked Lieutenant Andrusevich how any one could put up with such a row so late at night. He answered laughingly, 'Why shouldn't we now and then, like the dogs, howl at the moon?'" "Now I can't stand this any longer," interrupted Viätkin, with a yawn. "But who's that riding down there? It looks like Biek." "Yes, it's Biek-Agamalov," replied sharp-sighted Lbov. "Look how beautifully he rides." "Yes, he does," chimed in Romashov. "To my thinking, he rides better than any other of our cavalrymen. But just look at his horse dancing. Biek is showing off." An officer, wearing an Adjutant's uniform and white gloves, was riding quietly along the causeway. He was sitting on a high, slim-built horse with a gold-coloured and short-clipped tail, after the English fashion. The spirited animal pirouetted under his rider, and impatiently shook its branch-bit by the violent tossings of its long and nobly formed neck. "Pavel Pavlich, is it a fact that Biek is a Circassian by birth?" asked Romashov. "Yes, I think so," answered Viätkin. "Armenians pretend sometimes that they are Circassians or Lezghins,[1] but nobody can be deceived with regard to Biek. Only look how he carries himself on horseback." "Wait, I'll call him," said Lbov. Lbov put his hands to his mouth, and tried to form out of them a sort of speaking-tube, and shouted in a suppressed voice, so as not to be heard by the Commander-- "Lieutenant Biek-Agamalov!" The officer on horseback pulled the reins, stopped for a second, and swung in the saddle towards the right. Then he also turned his horse to the right, bent slightly forward, and, with a springy and energetic movement, jumped the ditch, and rode in a short gallop up to the officers. He was a man somewhat below the medium height, lean, muscular, and very powerful. His countenance, with its receding forehead, delicate, aquiline nose, and strong, resolute lines about the mouth, was manly and handsome, and had not yet got the pale and sickly hue that is so characteristic of the Oriental when he is getting on in years. "Good-day, Biek," was Viätkin's greeting. "Who was the girl for whom you were exercising your arts of seduction down there, you lady-killer?" Biek-Agamalov shook hands with the officers, whilst with an easy and graceful movement he bent slightly forward in the saddle. He smiled, and his gleaming white and even row of teeth cast a sort of lustre over the lower part of his face, with its black and splendidly cultivated moustache.