Here and there, the clouds were rent by the wind and, through the spaces, the cold sky studded with a few stars looked down. Reflected by the joyous sea, these stars leaped upon the waves, now disappearing, now shining brightly. "More to the left!" said Tchelkache. "We shall soon be there, Yes! . . . it is ended. We've done a good stroke of work. In a single night, you understand--five hundred rubles gained! Isn't that doing well, say?" "Five hundred rubles!" repeated Gavrilo, distrustfully, but he was immediately seized with fright and quickly asked, kicking the bales at the bottom of the boat: "What are those things?" "That's silk. A very dear thing. If it were to be sold for its real value, it would bring a thousand rubles. But I don't raise the price . . . clever that, eh?" "Is it possible?" asked Gavrilo. "If I only had as much!" He sighed at the thought of the country, of his miserable life, his toil, his mother and all those far-distant and dear things for which he had gone away to work, and for which he had suffered so much that night. A wave of memory swept over him: he saw his village on a hill-side with the river at the bottom, hidden by birches, willows, mountain-ash and wild cherry trees. The picture breathed some life in him and gave him a little strength. "Oh, Lord, how much good it would do!" he sighed, sadly. "Yes! I imagine that you'd very quickly board the train and--good-evening! Oh, how the girls would love you, yonder, in the village! You could have your pick. You could have a new house built. But for a new house, there might not be enough . . ." "That's true. A house, no; wood is very dear with us." "Never mind, you could have the one that you have repaired. Do you own a horse?" "A horse? Yes, there's one, but he's very old!" "Then a horse, a good horse! A cow . . . sheep . . . poultry . . . eh?" "Why do you say that? If only! . . . Ah! Lord, how I might enjoy life." "Yes, brother, life under those circumstances would not be bad . . . I, too, I know a little about such things. I also have a nest belonging to me. My father was one of the richest peasants of his village." Tchelkache rowed slowly. The boat danced upon the waves which beat against its sides; it scarcely advanced over the somber sea, now disporting itself harder than ever. The two men dreamed, rocked upon the water and gazing vaguely around them. Tchelkache had spoken to Gavrilo of his village with the purpose of quieting him and helping him to recover from his emotion. He at first spoke with a sceptical smile hidden under his moustache, but as he talked and recalled the joys of country life, in regard to which he himself had long since been disabused, and that he had forgotten until this moment, he became carried away, and instead of talking to the lad, he began unconsciously to harangue: