Chvabrine’s insolence made me furious, but no one else, except myself, understood his coarse allusions.  Nobody, at least, took up the subject.  From poetry the conversation passed to poets in general, and the Commandant made the remark that they were all rakes and confirmed drunkards; he advised me as a friend to give up poetry as a thing opposed to the service, and leading to no good.

Chvabrine’s presence was to me unbearable.  I hastened to take leave of the Commandant and his family.  After coming home I looked at my sword; I tried its point, and I went to bed after ordering Saveliitch to wake me on the morrow at six o’clock.

On the following day, at the appointed hour, I was already behind the haystacks, waiting for my foeman.  It was not long before he appeared.

“We may be surprised,” he said to me; “we must make haste.”

We laid aside our uniforms, and in our waistcoats we drew our swords from the scabbard.

At this moment Iwan Ignatiitch, followed by five pensioners, came out from behind a heap of hay.  He gave us an order to go at once before the Commandant.  We sulkily obeyed.  The soldiers surrounded us, and we followed Iwan Ignatiitch who brought us along in triumph, walking with a military step, with majestic gravity.

We entered the Commandant’s house.  Iwan Ignatiitch threw the door wide open, and exclaimed, emphatically—­

“They are taken!”

Vassilissa Igorofna ran to meet us.

“What does all this mean?  Plotting assassination in our very fort!  Ivan Kouzmitch, put them under arrest at once.  Petr’ Andrejitch, Alexey Ivanytch, give up your swords, give them up—­give them up.  Palashka, take away the swords to the garret.  Petr’ Andrejitch, I did not expect this of you; aren’t you ashamed of yourself?  As to Alexey Ivanytch, it’s different; he was transferred from the Guard for sending a soul into the other world.  He does not believe in our Lord!  But do you wish to do likewise?”

Ivan Kouzmitch approved of all his wife said, repeating—­

“Look there, now, Vassilissa Igorofna is quite right—­duels are formally forbidden by martial law.”

Palashka had taken away our swords, and had carried them to the garret.  I could not help laughing.  Chvabrine looked grave.

“In spite of all the respect I have for you,” he said, coolly, to the Commandant’s wife, “I cannot help remarking that you are giving yourself useless trouble by trying us at your tribunal.  Leave this cure do Ivan Kouzmitch—­it is his business.”

“What! what! my little father!” retorted the Commandant’s wife, “are not husband and wife the same flesh and spirit?  Ivan Kouzmitch, are you trifling?  Lock them up separately, and keep them on broad and water till this ridiculous idea goes out of their heads.  And Father Garasim shall make them do penance that they may ask pardon of heaven and of men.”

Ivan Kouzmitch did not know what to do.  Marya Ivanofna was very pale.  Little by little the storm sank.  The Commandant’s wife became more easy to deal with.  She ordered us to make friends.  Palashka brought us back our swords.  We left the house apparently reconciled.  Ivan Ignatiitch accompanied us.