“Well!  Are you happy, now?” asked he, still laughing, of Gavrilo, and turning his back to him, he walked away in the direction of the town.

But he had hardly taken two steps when Gavrilo, crouching like a cat, threw a large, round stone at him, crying furiously: 

“O—­one!”

Tchelkache groaned, raised his hands to the back of his neck and stumbled forward, then turned toward Gavrilo and fell face downward on the sand.  He moved a leg, tried to raise his head and stiffened, vibrating like a stretched cord.  At this, Gavrilo began to run, to run far away, yonder, to where the shadow of that ragged cloud overhung the misty steppe.  The murmuring waves, coursing over the sands, joined him and ran on and on, never stopping.  The foam hissed, the spray flew through the air.

The rain fell.  Slight at first, it soon came down thickly, heavily and came from the sky in slender streams.  They crossed, forming a net that soon shut off the distance on land and water.  For a long time there was nothing to be seen but the rain and this long body lying on the sand beside the sea . . .  But suddenly, behold Gavrilo coming from out the rain, running; he flew like a bird.  He went up to Tchelkache, fell upon his knees before him, and tried to turn him over.  His hand sank into a sticky liquid, warm and red.  He trembled and drew back, pale and distracted.

“Get up, brother!” he whispered amid the noise of the falling rain into the ear of Tchelkache.

Tchelkache came to himself and, repulsing Gavrilo, said in a hoarse voice: 

“Go away!”

“Forgive me, brother:  I was tempted by the devil . . .” continued Gavrilo, trembling and kissing Tchelkache’s hand.

“Go, go away!” growled the other.

“Absolve my sin!  Friend . . . forgive me!”

“Go, go to the devil!” suddenly cried out Tchelkache, sitting up on the sand.  His face was pale, threatening; his clouded eyes closed as though he were very sleepy . . .  “What do you want, now?  You’ve finished your business . . . go!  Off with you!”

He tried to kick Gavrilo, prostrated by grief, but failed, and would have fallen if Gavrilo hadn’t supported him with his shoulders.  Tchelkache’s face was now on a level with Gavrilo’s.  Both were pale, wretched and terrifying.

“Fie!”

Tchelkache spat in the wide opened eyes of his employe.

The other humbly wiped them with his sleeve, and murmured: 

“Do what you will . . .  I’ll not say one word.  Pardon me, in the name of Heaven!”

“Fool, you don’t even know how to steal!” cried Tchelkache, contemptuously.  He tore his shirt under his waistcoat and, gritting his teeth in silence, began to bandage his head.

“Have you taken the money?” he asked, at last.

“I haven’t taken it, brother; I don’t want it!  It brings bad luck!”

Tchelkache thrust his hand into his waistcoat pocket, withdrew the package of bills, put one of them in his pocket and threw all the rest at Gavrilo.