"What nonsense is it that you dare to talk about your wife and your children? What the devil have I to do with them? Before you brought your children into the world you ought to have considered how you could manage to feed them. What? So now you are trying to throw the blame on your Colonel, are you? But it has nothing to do with him. You know too well, Captain, that if I do not deliver you into the hands of justice I shall fail in my duty as your commander. Be good enough not to interrupt me. Here there is no question of an offence against discipline, but a glaring crime, and _your_ place henceforward will certainly not be in the regiment, but you yourself best know _where_." Again he heard that miserable, beseeching voice, so pitiful that it did not sound human. "Good Lord! what is it all about?" thought Romashov, who, as if he were glued to the looking-glass, gazed at his pale face without seeing it, and felt his heart throbbing painfully. "Good Lord! how horrible!" The plaintive, beseeching voice again replied, and spoke at some length. When it ceased, the Colonel's deep bass began thundering, but now evidently a trifle more calmly and gently than before, as if his rage had spent itself, and his desire to witness the humiliation of another were satisfied. Shulgovich said abruptly: "Engrave it for ever on your red nose. All right! But this is the last time. Remember now! The last time! Do you hear? If it ever comes to my ears that you have been drunk, the--silence!--I know what you intend to say, but I won't hear any more of your promises. In a week's time I shall inspect your company. You understand? And as to the troops' pay, that matter must be settled to-morrow. You hear? _To-morrow._ And now I shall not detain you longer, Captain. I have the honour----" The last words were interrupted by a scraping on the floor, and a few tottering steps towards the door; but, suddenly, the Colonel's voice was again heard, though this time its wrathful and violent tone did not sound quite natural. "Wait a moment! Come here, you devil's pepper-box! Where are you off to? To the Jews, of course--to get a bill signed. Ah, you fool--you blockhead! Here you are! One, two, three, four--three hundred. I can't do more. Take them and be off with you. Pay me back when you can. What a mess you have made of things, Captain! Now be off with you! Go to the devil--your servant, sir!" The door sprang open, and into the hall staggered little Captain Sviatovidov, red and perspiring, with harassed, nay, ravaged, features. His right hand grasped convulsively his new, rustling bundle of banknotes. He made a sort of pirouette directly he recognized Romashov, tried, but failed miserably in the attempt, to assume a sportive, free-and-easy look, and clutched tight hold of Romashov's fingers with his hot, moist, trembling hand. His wandering, furtive glances rested at last on Romashov as if he would ask the question: "Have you heard anything or have you not?"