“There’s the net, at the rudder.”

“What kind of a net’s that?” asked Gavrilo, suspiciously.

“A sweep-net. . .”

But Tchelkache was ashamed to lie to this child to conceal his real purpose; he also regretted the thoughts and feelings that the lad had put to flight by his question.  He became angry.  He felt the sharp burning sensation that he knew so well, in his breast; his throat contracted.  He said harshly to Gavrilo: 

“You’re there; well, remain there!  Don’t meddle with what doesn’t concern you.  You’ve been brought to row, now row.  And if you let your tongue wag, no good will come of it.  Do you understand?”

For one minute, the boat wavered and stopped.  The oars stood still in the foaming water around them, and Gavrilo moved uneasily on his seat.

“Row!”

A fierce oath broke the stillness.  Gavrilo bent to the oars.  The boat, as though frightened, leaped ahead rapidly and nervously, noisily cutting the water.

“Better than that!”

Tchelkache had risen from the helm and, without letting go his oar, he fixed his cold eyes upon the pale face and trembling lips of Gavrilo.  Sinuous and bending forward, he resembled a cat ready to jump.  A furious grinding of teeth and rattling of bones could be heard.

“Who goes there?”

This imperious demand resounded over the sea.

“The devil!  Row, row!  No noise!  I’ll kill you, dog.  Row, can’t you!  One, two!  Dare to cry out!  I’ll tear you from limb to limb! . . .” hissed Tchelkache.

“Oh, Holy Virgin,” murmured Gavrilo, trembling and exhausted.

The boat turned, obedient to his touch; he pulled toward the harbor where the many-colored lanterns were grouped together and the tall masts were outlined against the sky.

“Hey!  Who calls?” was again asked.  This time the voice was further away; Tchelkache felt relieved.

“It’s you, yourself, friend, who calls!” said he, in the direction of the voice.  Then, he turned to Gavrilo, who continued to murmur a prayer.  “Yes, brother, you’re in luck.  If those devils had pursued us, it would have been the end of you.  Do you hear?  I’d have soon sent you to the fishes.”

Now that Tchelkache again spoke quietly and even good-naturedly, Gavrilo, still trembling with fear, begged him: 

“Listen, let me go!  In the name of Christ, let me go.  Set me down somewhere.  Oh dear! oh, dear!  I’m lost!  For God’s sake, let me go.  What do you want of me?  I can’t do this, I’ve never done anything like it.  It’s the first time, Lord!  I’m lost!  How did you manage, comrade, to get around me like this?  Say?  It’s a sin, you make me lose my soul! . . .  Ah! what a piece of business!”

“What business?” sternly questioned Tchelkache.  “Speak, what business do you mean?”

The lad’s terror amused him; he also enjoyed the sensation of being able to provoke such fear.