[‘Oh, yes!’ the younger replied, blushing at the very recollection, ‘that upsets me terribly. I never expected such a thing could happen. Just imagine, at the very end of the term three of us went to have a smoke – you remember that little room by the hall-porter’s lodge? It must have been there in your time – but just imagine, that beast of a hall-porter saw us and ran to tell the officer on duty (though we had tipped that porter several times) and the officer crept up on tiptoe. As soon as we noticed him the others threw away their cigarettes and bolted out by the side door – you know – but I hadn’t the chance. The officer was very nasty to me, and of course I answered him back. Well, he told the Inspector, and there was a row. Because of that, you see, they didn’t give me full marks for conduct, though for everything else my marks were excellent, except for mechanics, for which I got twelve. And so they wouldn’t let me enter the Guards. They promised to transfer me later … but I no longer wanted it, and applied to be sent to the front.’
‘Dear me!’
‘Really, I tell you seriously, I was so disgusted with everything that] I wanted to get to Sevastopol as quickly as possible. And you see, if things turn out well here one can get on quicker than in the Guards. There it takes ten years to become a colonel, but here in two years Todleben from a lieutenant-colonel has become a general. And if one gets killed – well, it can’t be helped.’
‘So that’s the sort of stuff you are made of!’ said his brother, with a smile.
‘But the chief thing, you know,’ said the younger brother, smiling and blushing as if he were going to say something very shameful – ‘the chief thing was that I felt rather ashamed to be living in Petersburg while here men are dying for the Fatherland. And besides, I wanted to be with you,’ he added, still more shyly.
The other did not look at him. ‘What a funny fellow you are!’ he said, taking out his cigarette-case. ‘Only the pity is that we shan’t be together.’
‘I say, tell me quite frankly: is it very dreadful at the bastions?’ asked the younger suddenly.
‘It seems dreadful at first but one gets used to it. You’ll see for yourself.’
‘Yes … and another thing: Do you think they will take Sevastopol? I don’t think they will. I’m certain they won’t.’
‘Heaven only knows.’
‘It’s so provoking.… Just think what a misfortune! Do you know, we’ve had a whole bundle of things stolen on the way and my shako was inside so that I am in a terrible position. Whatever shall I appear in? [You know we have new shakos now, and in general there are many changes, all improvements. I can tell you all about it. I have been everywhere in Moscow.]’
The younger Kozeltsóv, Vladímir, was very like his brother Michael, but it was the likeness of an opening rosebud to a withered dog-rose. He had the same fair hair as his brother, but it was thick and curled about his temples, and a little tuft of it grew down the delicate white nape of his neck – a sign of luck according to the nurses. The delicate white skin of his face did not always show colour, but the full young blood rushing to it betrayed his every emotion. His eyes were like his brother’s, but more open and brighter, and seemed especially so because a slight moisture often made them glisten. Soft, fair down was beginning to appear on his cheeks and above the red lips, on which a shy smile often played disclosing his white and glistening teeth. Straight, broad-shouldered, the uniform over his red Russian shirt unbuttoned – as he stood there before his brother, cigarette in hand, leaning against the banisters of the porch, his face and attitude expressing naïve joy, he was such a charming, handsome boy that one could not help wishing to look at him. He was very pleased to see his brother, and looked at him with respect and pride, imagining him to be a hero; but in some respects, namely, in what in society is considered good form (being able to speak good French, knowing how to behave in the presence of people of high position, dancing, and so on) he was rather ashamed of his brother, looked down on him, and even hoped if possible to educate him. All his views were still those he had acquired in Petersburg, particularly in the house of a lady who liked good-looking lads and had got him to spend his holidays at her house; and at a senator’s house in Moscow, where he had once danced at a grand ball.
VII
HAVING talked almost their fill, and reached that stage which often comes when two people find that though they are fond of one another they have little in common, 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 haven’t 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 his head sorrowfully and began thinking.
‘Now, at once, straight to Sevastopol … into that hell … terrible! Ah well, never mind. It had to be sooner or later. And now at least I’ll have my brother with me.…’
In fact, only now, at the thought that after getting into the trap there would be nothing more to detain him and that he would not alight again before reaching Sevastopol, did he clearly realize the danger he had been seeking, and he grew confused and frightened at the mere thought of the nearness of that danger. Having mastered himself as well as he could, he went into 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 Kozeltsóv, in the attitude of a guilty schoolboy, was talking to 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 went up to his brother with a sigh. ‘Just fancy,’ he said, ‘it turns out that I can’t go with you, after all!’
‘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 some 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 preference … and I lost a little to him.’
‘That’s bad, Volódya! Now what would you have done if you hadn’t met me?’ the elder remarked sternly without looking at him.
‘Well, you see, 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 to-morrow.’
The elder brother drew out his purse and with slightly trembling fingers produced two ten-ruble notes and one of three rubles.
‘There’s the money I have,’ he said. ‘How much do you owe?’
Kozeltsóv 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 his cuff in case of special need, but he had resolved not to touch them.
As it turned out the younger Kozeltsóv owed only eight rubles, including the sugar and the preference, his brother gave them to him, merely remarking that it would never do to go playing preference when one had 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 anything 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 that were gathering in his throat he took the money without looking at it and returned to his comrades.