His shoulders shook.
"My God, how greedy you are! That's bad. Besides, for a peasant. . ."
"Just think of what one can do with money!" exclaimed Gavrilo,
passionately. He began to talk brokenly and rapidly, as though
pursuing an idea, and seizing the words on the wing, of life in the
country with and without money. "Respect, ease, liberty, gaiety. . ."
Tchelkache listened attentively with a serious countenance and
inscrutable eyes. Occasionally, he smiled in a pleased manner.
"Here we are!" he said at last.
A wave seized hold of the boat and landed it high on the sand.
"Ended, ended, quite ended! We must draw the boat up farther, so that
it will be out of reach of the tide. They will come after it. And,
now, good-bye. The town is eight versts from here. You'll return to
town, eh?"
Tchelkache's face still beamed with a slily good-natured smile; he
seemed to be planning something pleasant for himself and a surprise for
Gavrilo. He put his hand in his pocket and rustled the bank-notes.
"No, I'm not going. . . I. . ."
Gavrilo stifled and choked. He was shaken by a storm of conflicting
desires, words and feelings.
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