. . said he, smiling proudly. "You go out into the
hallway and look through the clefts. . . . Understand?"
We went out and, falling on one another, we stuck to the cleft, in
the wooden walls of the hallway, leading to the yard. We did not
have to wait long. . . . . . . . Soon Tanya passed with a quick
pace, skipping over the plashes of melted snow and mud. Her face
looked troubled. She disappeared behind the cellar door. Then the
soldier went there slowly and whistling. His hands were thrust into
his pockets, and his moustache was stirring.
A rain was falling, and we saw the drops fall into plashes, and the
plashes were wrinkling under their blows. It was a damp, gray day--a
very dreary day. The snow still lay on the roofs, while on the
ground, here and there, were dark spots of mud. And the snow on the
roofs, too, was covered with a brownish, muddy coating. The rain
trickled slowly, producing a mournful sound. We felt cold and
disagreeable.
The soldier came first out of the cellar; he crossed the yard slowly,
Stirring his moustache, his hands in his pockets--the same as always.
Then Tanya came out. Her eyes . .
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