“You’re going!” Gavrila cried aloud.

The sandy waste of the shore seemed to start at his cry, and the yellow ridges of sand washed by the sea-waves seemed quivering. Chelkash started too. All at once Gavrila tore himself from where he stood, flung himself at Chelkash’s feet, threw his arms round them, and drew them toward him. Chelkash staggered; he sat heavily down on the sand, and grinding his teeth, brandished his long arm and clenched fist in the air. But before he had time to strike he was pulled up by Gavrila’s shame-faced and supplicating whisper:

“Friend! Give me—that money! Give it me, for Christ’s sake! What is it to you? Why, you’ll spend it one night—in only one night—while it would last me years—Give it me—I will pray for you! Continually—in three churches—for the salvation of your soul! Why, you’d cast it to the winds—while I’d put it into the land. Oh, give it me! Why, what does it mean to you? Did it cost you much? One night—and you’re rich! Do a deed of mercy! You’re a lost man, you see—you couldn’t make your way—while I—oh, give it to me!”

Chelkash, dismayed, amazed, and wrathful, sat on the sand, thrown backward with his hands supporting him; he sat there in silence, rolling his eyes frightfully at the young peasant, who, with his head against Chelkash’s knees, whispered his prayer to him in gasps. He shoved him away at last, jumped to his feet, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, flung the rainbow notes at Gavrila.

“There, cur! Swallow them!” he roared, shaking with excitement, with intense pity and hatred of this greedy slave. And as he flung him the money, he felt himself a hero.

“I’d meant to give you more, of myself. I felt sorry for you yesterday. I thought of the village. I thought: come, I’ll help the lad. I was waiting to see what you’d do, whether you’d beg or not. While you!—Ah, you rag! you beggar! To be able—to torment oneself so—for money! You fool. Greedy devils! They’re beside themselves—sell themselves for five kopecks! Eh?“

“Dear friend! Christ have mercy on you! Why, what have I now! I’m a rich man!” Gavrila shrilled in ecstasy, trembling, as he stowed away the notes in his bosom. “Ah, you good man! Never will I forget you! Never! And my wife and my children—I’ll bid them pray for you!”

Chelkash listened to his shrieks and wails of ecstasy, looked at his radiant face that was contorted by greedy joy, and felt that he, thief and rake as he was, cast out from everything in life, would never be so covetous, so base, would never so forget himself. Never would he be like that! And this thought and feeling, filling him with a sense of his own independence, kept him beside Gavrila on the desolate seashore.

“You’ve made me happy!” shrieked Gavrila, and snatching Chelkash’s hand, he pressed it to his face.

Chelkash did not speak; he grinned like a wolf. Gavrila still went on pouring out his heart:

“Do you know what I was thinking about? As we rowed here—I saw—the money—thinks I—I’ll give it him—you—with the oar—one blow! The money’s mine, and into the sea with him—you, that is—eh! Who’ll miss him? said I. And if they do find him, they won’t be inquisitive how—and who it was killed him. He’s not a man, thinks I, that there’d be much fuss about! He’s of no use in the world! Who’d stand up for him? No, indeed—eh?”

“Give the money here!” growled Chelkash, clutching Gavrila by the throat.

Gavrila struggled away once, twice. Chelkash’s other arm twisted like a snake about him—there was the sound of a shirt tearing—and Gavrila lay on the sand, with his eyes staring wildly, his fingers clutching at the air and his legs waving. Chelkash, erect, frigid, rapacious-looking, grinned maliciously, laughed a broken, biting laugh, and his mustaches twitched nervously in his sharp, angular face.