“What a fellow!” they exclaimed approvingly.  “We stand beside him and he takes not a bit of notice!  What a rascal!”

At the end of the way the path went uphill, and, skirting the church enclosure, turned into the road.  Here the officers, tired with walking uphill, sat down and lighted their cigarettes.  On the other side of the river a murky red fire came into sight, and having nothing better to do, they spent a long time in discussing whether it was a camp fire or a light in a window, or something else. . . .  Ryabovitch, too, looked at the light, and he fancied that the light looked and winked at him, as though it knew about the kiss.

On reaching his quarters, Ryabovitch undressed as quickly as possible and got into bed.  Lobytko and Lieutenant Merzlyakov—­a peaceable, silent fellow, who was considered in his own circle a highly educated officer, and was always, whenever it was possible, reading the “Vyestnik Evropi,” which he carried about with him everywhere—­ were quartered in the same hut with Ryabovitch.  Lobytko undressed, walked up and down the room for a long while with the air of a man who has not been satisfied, and sent his orderly for beer.  Merzlyakov got into bed, put a candle by his pillow and plunged into reading the “Vyestnik Evropi.”

“Who was she?” Ryabovitch wondered, looking at the smoky ceiling.

His neck still felt as though he had been anointed with oil, and there was still the chilly sensation near his mouth as though from peppermint drops.  The shoulders and arms of the young lady in lilac, the brow and the truthful eyes of the fair girl in black, waists, dresses, and brooches, floated through his imagination.  He tried to fix his attention on these images, but they danced about, broke up and flickered.  When these images vanished altogether from the broad dark background which every man sees when he closes his eyes, he began to hear hurried footsteps, the rustle of skirts, the sound of a kiss and—­an intense groundless joy took possession of him . . . .  Abandoning himself to this joy, he heard the orderly return and announce that there was no beer.  Lobytko was terribly indignant, and began pacing up and down again.

“Well, isn’t he an idiot?” he kept saying, stopping first before Ryabovitch and then before Merzlyakov.  “What a fool and a dummy a man must be not to get hold of any beer!  Eh?  Isn’t he a scoundrel?”

“Of course you can’t get beer here,” said Merzlyakov, not removing his eyes from the “Vyestnik Evropi.”

“Oh!  Is that your opinion?” Lobytko persisted.  “Lord have mercy upon us, if you dropped me on the moon I’d find you beer and women directly!  I’ll go and find some at once. . . .  You may call me an impostor if I don’t!”

He spent a long time in dressing and pulling on his high boots, then finished smoking his cigarette in silence and went out.

“Rabbek, Grabbek, Labbek,” he muttered, stopping in the outer room.  “I don’t care to go alone, damn it all!  Ryabovitch, wouldn’t you like to go for a walk?  Eh?”