"Well, the shame I am now feeling is possibly unnecessary or excessive," he reasoned to himself, trying, as is habitual with timid or bashful persons, to console himself. "Possibly that which seems so shameful and guilty to me is regarded by others as the veriest trifle. Suppose, for instance, that it was Lbov, not I, who came too late, and that I am now in the line and see him coming up. Well, what more--what is there to make a fuss about? Lbov comes--that's all it amounts to. How stupid to grieve and get uncomfortable at such a petty incident, which within a month, perhaps even in a week, will be forgotten by all here present. Besides, what is there in this life which is not forgotten?" Romashov remarked as he finished his argument with himself, and felt in some degree calm and consoled. To every one's astonishment this time Sliva spared Romashov from personal insults, nay, he even seemed not to have noticed him in the least. When Romashov went up to him and saluted, with his heels together and his hand at his cap, he only said, pointing his red, withered fingers, which strongly resembled five little cold sausages: "I must beg you, Sub-lieutenant, to remember that it is your duty to be with your company _five_ minutes before the senior subaltern officers, and _ten_ minutes before the chief of your company." "I am very sorry, Captain," replied Romashov in a composed tone. "That's all very well, Sub-lieutenant, but you are always asleep and you seem to have quite forgotten the old adage: 'He who is seldom awake must go about shabby.' And I must now ask you, gentlemen, to retire to your respective companies." The whole company was split up into small groups, each of which was instructed in gymnastics. The soldiers stood drawn up in open file at a distance of a pace apart, and with their uniforms unbuttoned in order to enable them to perform their gymnastic exercises. Bobyliev, the smart subaltern officer stationed in Romashov's platoon, cast a respectful glance at his commander, who was approaching, his lower jaw stuck out and his eyes squinting, and giving orders in a resonant voice-- "Hips steady. Rise on your toes. Bend your knees." And directly after that, very softly and in a sing-song voice-- "Begin." "One," sang out the soldiers in unison, and they simultaneously performed in slow time the order to bend the knees till the whole division found itself on its haunches. Bobyliev, who likewise performed the same movement, scrutinized the soldiers with severe, critical, and aggressive eyes. Immediately beside him cried the little spasmodic corporal, Syeroshtán, in his sharp, squeaky voice that reminded one of a cockerel squabbling for food-- "Stretch your arms to the right--and left--salute. Begin, one, two, one, two," and directly afterwards ten smart young fellows were heard yelling at the top of their voices the regulation-- "_Haú, haú, haú._"