The wounded man lay on the wagon bottom, holding the sides with both hands. His healthy, broad face had in a few seconds entirely changed; he had, as it were, grown gaunt, and older by several years. His lips were pinched and white, and tightly compressed, with evident effort at self-control; his glance had a quick and feeble expression; but in his eyes was a peculiarly clear and tranquil gleam, and on his blood-stained forehead and nose already lay the seal of death. In spite of the fact that the least motion caused him unendurable anguish, he was trying to take from his left leg his purse,[14] which contained money. A fearfully burdensome thought came into my mind when I saw his bare, white, and healthy-looking leg as he was taking off his boot and untying his purse. "There are three silver rubles and a fifty_-kopek_ piece," he said when I took the girdle-purse. "You keep them." The ambulance had started to move, but he stopped it. "I was working on a cloak for Lieutenant Sulimovsky. He had paid me two-o-o silver rubles. I spent one and a half on buttons, but half a ruble lies with the buttons in my bag. Give them to him." "Very good, I will," said I. "Keep up good hopes, brother." He did not answer me; the wagon moved away, and he began once more to groan, and to exclaim "_Okh!"_ in the same terribly heart-rending tone. As though he had done with earthly things, he felt that he had no longer any pretext for self-restraint, and he now considered this alleviation permissible. [Footnote 13: _bratsuí moï._] [Footnote 14: _chéres;_ diminutive, _chéresok,--_a leather purse in the form of a girdle, which soldiers wear usually under the knee.--AUTHOR'S NOTE.] IX. "Where are you off to? Come back! Where are you going?" I shouted to the recruit, who, carrying in his arms his reserve linstock, and a sort of cane in his hand, was calmly marching off toward the ambulance in which the wounded man was carried. But the recruit lazily looked up at me, and kept on his way, and I was obliged to send a soldier to bring him back. He took off his red cap, and looked at me with a stupid smile. "Where were you going?" I asked. "To camp." "Why?" "Because--they have wounded Velenchúk," he replied, still smiling. "What has that to do with you? It's your business to stay here." He looked at me in amazement, then coolly turned round, put on his cap, and went to his place.