“No, I have not been playing; but I want the money; let me have it, please.”

“Makatiuk!” shouted the captain to his servant, [Footnote:  Denshchik.] “hand me my bag with the money.”

“Hush, hush!” said I, hearing Guskof’s measured steps near the tent.

“What?  Why hush?”

“Because that cashiered fellow has asked to borrow it of me.  He’s right there.”

“Well, if you knew him, you wouldn’t let him have it,” remarked the captain.  “I have heard about him.  He’s a dirty, low-lived fellow.”

Nevertheless, the captain gave me the money, ordered his man to put away the bag, pulled the flap of the tent neatly to, and, again saying, “If you only knew him, you wouldn’t let him have it,” drew his head down under the coverlet.  “Now you owe me thirty-two, remember,” he shouted after me.

When I came out of the tent, Guskof was walking near the settees; and his slight figure, with his crooked legs, his shapeless cap, his long white hair, kept appearing and disappearing in the darkness, as he passed in and out of the light of the candles.  He made believe not to see me.

I handed him the money.  He said “Merci,” and, crumpling the bank-bill, thrust it into his trousers pocket.

“Now I suppose the game is in full swing at the adjutant’s,” he began immediately after this.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“He’s a wonderful player, always bold, and never backs out.  When he’s in luck, it’s fine; but when it does not go well with him, he can lose frightfully.  He has given proof of that.  During this expedition, if you reckon his valuables, he has lost more than fifteen hundred rubles.  But, as he played discreetly before, that officer of yours seemed to have some doubts about his honor.”

“Well, that’s because he . . .  Nikita, haven’t we any of that red Kavkas wine [Footnote:  Chikir] left?” I asked, very much enlivened by Guskof’s conversational talent.  Nikita still kept muttering; but he brought us the red wine, and again looked on angrily as Guskof drained his glass.  In Guskof’s behavior was noticeable his old freedom from constraint.  I wished that he would go as soon as possible; it seemed as if his only reason for not going was because he did not wish to go immediately after receiving the money.  I said nothing.

“How could you, who have means, and were under no necessity, simply de gaiete de coeur, make up your mind to come and serve in the Caucasus?  That’s what I don’t understand,” said he to me.

I endeavored to explain this act of renunciation, which seemed so strange to him.

“I can imagine how disagreeable the society of those officers—­men without any comprehension of culture—­must be for you.  You could not understand each other.  You see, you might live ten years, and not see anything, and not hear about anything, except cards, wine, and gossip about rewards and campaigns.”