"Hey, there! Are you asleep? Take this! Softly!" said Tchelkache's
hoarse voice.

From the wall descended a solid, square, heavy object. Gavrilo put it
in the boat, then another one like it. Across the wall stretched
Tchelkache's long figure. The oars reappeared mysteriously, then
Gavrilo's bag fell at his feet and Tchelkache out of breath seated
himself at the tiller.

Gavrilo looked at him with a timid and glad smile.

"Are you tired?" said he.

"A little, naturally, simpleton! Row firm, with all your might. You
have a pretty profit, brother! The affair is half done, now there only
remains to pass unseen under the eyes of those devils, and then you'll
receive your money and fly to your Machka. . . You have a Machka, say,
little one?"

"N-no!"

Gavrilo did not spare himself; his breast worked like a bellows and his
arms like steel springs. The water foamed under the boat and the blue
trail that followed in the wake of the stern had become wider. Gavrilo
was bathed in perspiration, but he continued to row with all his
strength. After twice experiencing the fright that he had on this
night, he dreaded a repetition of it and had only one desire: to finish
this accursed task as soon as possible, regain the land, and flee from
this man before he should be killed by him or imprisoned on account of