"I'm tired! . . . and the boat rocks!"

"Of course it rocks! So, now, there's no danger of being caught with
this?"

Gavrilo kicked the bales.

"No, be quiet. I'm going to deliver them at once and receive the
money. Yes!"

"Five hundred?"

"Not less, probably. . ."

"It's a lot! If I had it, poor beggar that I am, I'd soon let it be
known."

"At the village? . . ."

"Sure! without delay. . ."

Gavrilo let himself be carried away by his imagination. Tchelkache
appeared crushed. His moustache hung down straight; his right side
was all wet from the waves, his eyes were sunken in his head and
without life. He was a pitiful and dull object. His likeness to a
bird of prey had disappeared; self-abasement appeared in the very folds
of his dirty blouse.

"I'm tired, worn out!"