was smiling in his sleep, his round, sun-burned face irradiated with
joy.

Tchelkache sighed and climbed up a narrow rope ladder. The opening of
the trap-door framed a piece of leaden sky. It was daylight, but the
autumn weather was gray and gloomy.

It was two hours before Tchelkache reappeared. His face was red, his
moustache curled fiercely upward; his eyes beamed with gaiety and
good-nature. He wore high, thick boots, a coat and leather trowsers;
he looked like a hunter. His costume, which, although a little worn,
was still in good condition and fitted him well, made him appear
broader, concealed his too angular lines and gave him a martial air.

"Hey! Youngster, get up!" said he touching Gavrilo with his foot.

The last named started up, and not recognizing him just at first, gazed
at him vacantly. Tchelkache burst out laughing.

"How you're gotten up! . . ." finally exclaimed Gavrilo, smiling
broadly. "You are a gentleman!"

"We do that quickly here! What a coward you are! Dear, dear! How
many times did you make up your mind to die last night, eh? Say. . ."

"But you see, it's the first time I've ever done anything like this!
One might lose his soul for the rest of his days!"

"Would you be willing to go again?"