"Have no fear: I'll pay you, brother. I'll give you forty rubles! Eh?
Are you pleased? Do you want your money now?"

"If you don't mind. Yes, I'll accept it!"

Gavrilo trembled with anticipation; a sharp, burning pain oppressed his
breast.

"Ha! ha! ha! Little devil! You'll accept it? Take it, brother, I beg
of you! I implore you, take it! I don't know where to put all this
money; relieve me, here!"

Tchelkache handed Gavrilo several ten ruble notes. The other took them
with a shaking hand, dropped the oars and proceeded to conceal his
booty in his blouse, screwing up his eyes greedily, and breathing
noisily as though he were drinking something hot. Tchelkache regarded
him ironically. Gavrilo seized the oars; he rowed in nervous haste,
his eyes lowered, as though he were afraid. 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.