"Well, yes--to a certain extent you are right," replied Viätkin, in a tone of indifference. The rest of what he thought of saying died away in a gape, and Romashov continued, in increasing excitement-- "Tell me, what is the use of all this shouting and yelling at the men? I never could imagine when I became an officer that such barbarism was tolerated in our time in a Russian regiment. Ah! never shall I forget my first impressions and experiences here. One incident remains very clearly graven in my memory. It was the third day after my arrival here. I was sitting at mess in company with that red-haired libertine, Artschakovski. I addressed him in conversation as 'lieutenant,' because he called me 'sub-lieutenant.' Suddenly he began showering insults and abuse on me. Although we sat at the same table and drank ale together, he shouted at me: 'In the first place, I am not lieutenant to you, but _Mr._ Lieutenant, and, secondly, be good enough to stand up when you are speaking to your superior.' And there I stood in the room, like a schoolboy under punishment, until Lieutenant-Colonel Liech came and sat between us. No, no, pray don't say anything, Pavel Pavlich. I am just sick of all that goes on here." XI The 22nd of April was for Romashov not only an uncomfortable and tiresome day, but a very remarkable one. At 10 a.m., before Romashov had got out of bed, Nikoläiev's servant, Stepan, arrived with a letter from Alexandra Petrovna. MY DEAR ROMOTCHKA (she wrote), I should not be in the least surprised if you have forgotten that to-day is my name-day, of which I also take the liberty to remind you. And in spite of all your transgressions, I should like to see you at my house to-day. But don't come at the conventional hour of congratulation, but at 5 p.m. We are going to a little picnic at Dubetschnaia.--Yours, A. N. The letter trembled in Romashov's hands as he read it. For a whole week he had not once seen Shurochka's saucy, smiling, bewitching face; had not felt the delicious enchantment he always experienced in her presence. "To-day," a joyful voice sang exultant in his heart. "To-day," shouted Romashov, in a ringing voice, as he jumped out of bed. "Hainán, my bathwater, quick." Hainán rushed in. "Your Honour, the servant is waiting for an answer." "Oh--yes, of course." Romashov dropped, with eyes wide open, on a chair. "The deuce, he is waiting for a 'tip,' and I haven't a single copeck." Romashov stared at his trusty servant with a look of absolute helplessness. Hainán returned his look with a broad grin of delight. "No more have I either, your Excellency. You have nothing, and I have nothing--what's to be done? _Nichevó!_"