"Softly, or I'll kill you! Softly! Imbecile, may the devil take you!
What are you afraid of? Say? A lantern and a mirror. That's all!
Softly with those oars, miserable wretch! They incline the mirror at
will and light the sea to find out if any folks like us are roving over
it. They're on the watch for smugglers. We're out of reach; they're
too far away, now. Don't be afraid, boy, we're safe! Now, we. . ."
Tchelkache looked around him triumphantly.
"Yes, we're safe. Out! You were in luck, you worthless stick!"
Gavrilo rowed in silence; breathing heavily, he cast sidelong glances
at the spot where still rose and fell the sword of fire. He could not
believe that it was only, as Tchelkache said, a lantern with a
reflector. The cold, blue light, cutting the darkness, awoke silver
reflections upon the sea; there seemed something mysterious about it,
and Gavrilo again felt his faculties benumbed with fear. The
presentiment of some misfortune oppressed him a second time. He rowed
like a machine, bent his shoulders as though expecting a blow to
descend and felt himself void of every desire, and without soul. The
emotions of that night had consumed all that was human in him.
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