The accordion-player Kisljakoff crosses the yard. He is wearing a velvet tunic without sleeves; a red silk shirt and wide trousers tucked into his stockings; on his feet are smartly-polished shoes. Under his arm he carries in a green bundle his accordion; he has twisted up his black moustache, his cap is worn jauntily on one side, and his whole countenance beams with the joy of living. Orloff liked his brisk liveliness, his cordial ways, and his playing, and he envied him his bright, happy-go-lucky life, free from all care. "I greet thee, Grischka, proud conqueror, returning blood-stained from the fray!" cried jokingly the accordion-player. Orloff did not feel angry with Kisljakoff's joke, though he had heard it already for the fiftieth time. He knew that the accordion-player meant no harm, but only wanted to have a little innocent fun with him. "Well, brother; so you have been acting Plevna again?" Kisljakoff asked the cobbler, as he remained for a moment standing before him. "Ah! Grischka, you are indeed a melancholy-looking swain!... Come along with me to the only place which is of any good to such as you and me ... we will go and have a drop together!" "It's too early yet," objected Orloff, without moving his head. "I shall await thee then with silent longing!..." said Kisljakoff, turning away. After a time Orloff followed him. As soon as he had left, there issues from the cellar a short, plump woman's form. A handkerchief is bound tightly round her head, allowing only one eye and a piece of her cheek to be seen; she walks with tottering steps, leaning for support against the wall, crosses the courtyard, going straight to the place where a short time before her husband had sat, and sits down precisely in the same spot No one is surprised at her appearance, they are all accustomed to it, and they know she will sit there till Grischka, drunk and repentant, returns from the dram-shop. She has come up into the courtyard, because the air is too heavy in the cellar, and because she will have to guide the drunken steps of Grischka on his return. The steps are very steep and half broken away; once before, when Grischka returned from the dram-shop he fell down, and sprained his arm, so that he could not work for a fortnight, and she, in order that they might live, had been obliged to pawn everything they possessed. From that time Matrona had taken good care of him. Sometimes one of the inhabitants of the house would come and speak to her; generally it was Lewtschenko, a retired, bearded non-commissioned officer, a very sensible worthy "Little Russian," with a smooth shaven head and a purple nose. He would sit down, with a yawn and a stretch, and remark--"Well, have you been catching it again?" "What's that to you?" Matrona would reply in an unfriendly tone. "Nothing in the world!" said the "Little Russian," and then they both remained silent for a while. Matrona would gasp; something seemed to be choking her breath.