VI
Having talked almost their fill, and reached a feeling which often comes when two people find there is little in common between them though they are fond of each other, the brothers remained silent for some time.
“Well, then, collect your things and let us be off,” said the elder.
The younger suddenly blushed and became confused.
“Do we go straight to Sevastopol?” he asked, after a moment’s silence.
“Well, of course. You have not got much luggage, I suppose; we’ll get it all in.”
“All right! let’s start at once,” said the younger with a sigh, and went towards the room.
But he stopped in the passage without opening the door, hung down his head sorrowfully and began thinking.
“Now, at once, straight to Sevastopol within reach of the bombs … terrible! Ah well, never mind; it had to be sooner or later. And now, at least, it’s with my brother …”
The thing was, that only now, at the thought that once seated in the trap he would reach Sevastopol before again alighting, and that there were no more chances of anything detaining him, did he clearly realise the danger he had been seeking; and the thought of its nearness staggered him. Having calmed himself as well as he could, he entered the room; but a quarter of an hour passed and he did not return to his brother, so the latter at last opened the door to call him. The younger Kozeltsóf, standing like a guilty schoolboy, was speaking with an officer. When his brother opened the door he seemed quite disconcerted.
“Yes, yes, I’m just coming,” he cried, waving his hand to prevent his brother coming in. “Please wait for me there.”
A few minutes later he came out and approached his brother with a deep sigh. “Just fancy,” he said; “it turns out that I can’t go with you, brother.”
“What? what nonsense!”
“I’ll tell you the whole truth, Mísha … None of us have any money left, and we are all in debt to that Lieutenant-Captain whom you saw in there. It’s such a shame!”
The elder brother frowned, and remained silent for a considerable time.
“Do you owe much?” he asked at last, looking at his brother from under his brows.
“Much? No, not very much; but I feel terribly ashamed. He paid for me at three post-stations, and the sugar was always his, so that I don’t … Yes, and we played at Préférence … and I lost a little to him.”
“That’s bad, Volódya! Now what would you have done if you had not met me?” the elder remarked sternly, without looking at him.
“Well, you see, brother, I thought I’d pay when I got my travelling allowance in Sevastopol. I could do that, couldn’t I? … So I’d better drive on with him tomorrow.”
The elder brother drew out his purse and with slightly trembling fingers produced two ten-rouble notes and one of three roubles.
“There’s the money I have,” he said; “how much do you owe?”
Kozeltsóf did not speak quite truly when he made it appear as if this were all the money he had. He had four gold coins sewn into the cuff of his sleeve in case of special need, but he had resolved not to touch them.
It turned out that Kozeltsóf secundus only owed eight roubles, including the sugar and the Préférence. The elder brother gave them to him, only remarking that it would never do to go playing Préférence when one has no money.
“How high did you play?”
The younger did not reply. The question seemed to suggest a doubt of his honour. … Vexed with himself, ashamed of having done something that could give rise to such suspicions, and hurt at such offensive words from the brother he so loved, his impressionable nature suffered so keenly that he did not answer. Feeling that he could not suppress the sobs which were gathering in his throat, he took the money without looking at it and returned to his comrades.