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Tchelkache listened to these cries of joy, gazed at this face, irradiated and disfigured by the passion of covetousness; he felt that he himself, the thief and vagabond, freed from all restraining influence, would never become so rapacious, so vile, so lost to all decency. Never would he sink so low as that!
In a moment they were on the deck, where three dark and bearded individuals were looking over the side at Tchelkache's boat and talking animatedly in a strange and harsh language. A fourth, clad in a long gown, advanced toward Tchelkache, shook his hand in silence and cast a suspicious glance at Gavrilo. "Get the money ready for to-morrow morning," briefly said Tchelkache.
The sky no longer resembled a rough sea; the clouds extended over its surface, forming a thick, even curtain, hanging motionless above the ocean. The sea was calmer and blacker, its warm and salty odor was stronger and it did not appear as vast as before. "Oh! if it would only rain!" murmured Tchelkache; "we would be hidden by a curtain."
When you have forgiven me I'll take it," timidly said Gavrilo, falling on the wet sand at Tchelkache's feet. "You lie, fool, you'll take it at once!" said Tchelkache, confidently, and raising his head, by a painful effort, he thrust the money before his face. "Take it, take it! You haven't worked for nothing! Don't be ashamed of having failed to assassinate a man! No one will claim anyone like me.
The boat turned, obedient to his touch; he pulled toward the harbor where the many-colored lanterns were grouped together and the tall masts were outlined against the sky. "Hey! Who calls?" was again asked. This time the voice was further away; Tchelkache felt relieved. "It's you, yourself, friend, who calls!" said he, in the direction of the voice.
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 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.
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!"
Near him lay a little bag and a scythe, without a handle, wrapped in hay carefully bound with string. The boy was broad shouldered and fairhaired with a sun-burned and tanned face; his eyes were large and blue and gazed at Tchelkache confidingly and pleasantly. Tchelkache showed his teeth, stuck out his tongue, and, making a horrible grimace, stared at him persistently.
Suddenly Gavrilo darted from his place, and throwing himself at Tchelkache's feet, entwined his legs with his arms and drew him toward him. Tchelkache tottered, sat down heavily on the sand, and gritting his teeth, brandished his long arm and closed fist in the air. But before he had time to strike, he was stopped by the troubled and suppliant look of Gavrilo. "Friend! Give me . . . that money!
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