about on the ground; this roused Tchelkache from the reflections in
which his speech had plunged him.

Tchelkache felt that he had no more desire to talk, but he nevertheless
asked:

"Where are you going, now?"

"Where am I going? Home, of course!"

"Why of course? . . . Perhaps you'd like to go to Turkey."

"To Turkey?" drawled the boy. "Do Christians go there? What do you
mean by that?"

"What an imbecile you are!" sighed Tchelkache, and he again turned his
back on his interlocutor, thinking this time that he would not
vouchsafe him another word. This robust peasant awakened something
obscure within him.

A confused feeling was gradually growing up, a kind of vexation was
stirring the depths of his being and preventing him from concentrating
his thoughts upon what he had to do that night.

The lad whom he had just insulted muttered something under his breath
and looked askance at him. His cheeks were comically puffed out, his
lips pursed up, and he half closed his eyes in a laughable manner.
Evidently he had not expected that his conversation with this
moustached person would end so quickly and in a manner so humiliating
for him.