The gray sky was covered with clouds; the troubled, green sea, played with their craft, tossing it on its still tiny waves that broke over it in a shower of clear, salt drops.  Far off, before the prow of the boat, appeared the yellow line of the sandy beach; back of the stern was the free and joyous sea, all furrowed by the troops of waves that ran up and down, already decked in their superb fringe of foam.  In the far distance, ships were rocking on the bosom of the sea and, on the left, was a whole forest of masts mingled with the white masses of the houses of the town.  Prom there, a dull murmur is borne out to sea and blending with the sound of the waves swelled into rapturous music.  Over all stretched a thin veil of mist, widening the distance between the different objects.

“Eh!  It’ll be rough to-night!” said Tchelkache, nodding his head in the direction of the sea.

“A storm?” asked Gavrilo.  He was rowing hard.  He was drenched from head to foot by the drops blown by the wind.

“Ehe!” affirmed Tchelkache.

Gavrilo looked at him curiously.

“How much did they give you?” he asked at last, seeing that Tchelkache was not disposed to talk.

“See!” said Tchelkache.  He held out toward Gavrilo something that he drew from his pocket.

Gavrilo saw the variegated banknotes, and they assumed in his eyes all the colors of the rainbow.

“Oh!  And I thought you were boasting!  How much?”

“Five hundred and forty!  Isn’t that a good haul?”

“Certain!” murmured Gavrilo, following with greedy eyes the five hundred and forty roubles as they again disappeared in the pocket.  “Ah!  If it was only mine!” He sighed dejectedly.

“We’ll have a lark, little one!” enthusiastically exclaimed Tchelkache!  “Have no fear:  I’ll pay you, brother.  I’ll give you forty rubles!  Eh?  Are you pleased?  Do you want your money now?”

“If you don’t mind.  Yes, I’ll accept it!”

Gavrilo trembled with anticipation; a sharp, burning pain oppressed his breast.

“Ha! ha! ha!  Little devil!  You’ll accept it?  Take it, brother, I beg of you!  I implore you, take it!  I don’t know where to put all this money; relieve me, here!”

Tchelkache handed Gavrilo several ten ruble notes.  The other took them with a shaking hand, dropped the oars and proceeded to conceal his booty in his blouse, screwing up his eyes greedily, and breathing noisily as though he were drinking something hot.  Tchelkache regarded him ironically.  Gavrilo seized the oars; he rowed in nervous haste, his eyes lowered, as though he were afraid.  His shoulders shook.

“My God, how greedy you are!  That’s bad.  Besides, for a peasant. . .”

“Just think of what one can do with money!” exclaimed Gavrilo, passionately.  He began to talk brokenly and rapidly, as though pursuing an idea, and seizing the words on the wing, of life in the country with and without money.  “Respect, ease, liberty, gaiety. . .”