In five minutes, he was snoring on the dirty deck; Tchelkache sitting beside him, was trying on an old boot that he found lying there.  He softly whistled, animated both by sorrow and anger.  Then he lay down beside Gavrilo, without removing the boot from his foot, and putting his hands under the back of his neck he carefully examined the deck, working his lips the while.

The boat rocked joyously on the water; the sound of wood creaking dismally was heard, the rain fell softly on the deck, the waves beat against the sides.  Everything resounded sadly like the lullaby of a mother who has lost all hope for the happiness of her son.

Tchelkache, with parted lips, raised his head and gazed around him . . . and murmuring a few words, lay down again.

* * * * *

He was the first to awaken, starting up uneasily; then suddenly quieting down he looked at Gavrilo, who was still sleeping.  The lad was smiling in his sleep, his round, sun-burned face irradiated with joy.

Tchelkache sighed and climbed up a narrow rope ladder.  The opening of the trap-door framed a piece of leaden sky.  It was daylight, but the autumn weather was gray and gloomy.

It was two hours before Tchelkache reappeared.  His face was red, his moustache curled fiercely upward; his eyes beamed with gaiety and good-nature.  He wore high, thick boots, a coat and leather trowsers; he looked like a hunter.  His costume, which, although a little worn, was still in good condition and fitted him well, made him appear broader, concealed his too angular lines and gave him a martial air.

“Hey!  Youngster, get up!” said he touching Gavrilo with his foot.

The last named started up, and not recognizing him just at first, gazed at him vacantly.  Tchelkache burst out laughing.

“How you’re gotten up! . . .” finally exclaimed Gavrilo, smiling broadly.  “You are a gentleman!”

“We do that quickly here!  What a coward you are!  Dear, dear!  How many times did you make up your mind to die last night, eh?  Say. . .”

“But you see, it’s the first time I’ve ever done anything like this!  One might lose his soul for the rest of his days!”

“Would you be willing to go again?”

“Again?  I must know first what there would be in it for me.”

“Two hundred.”

“Two hundred, you say?  Yes I’d go.”

“Stop! . . .  And your soul?”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t lose it!” said Gavrilo, smiling.  “And then one would be a man for the rest of his days!”

Tchelkache burst out laughing.  “That’s right, but we’ve joked long enough!  Let us row to the shore.  Get ready.”

“I?  Why I’m ready. . .”

They again took their places in the boat.  Tchelkache at the helm, Gavrilo rowing.