Chapter 10 - Page 2

three months
before, was quartered in one of the best houses in the village,
the house of the cornet, Elias Vasilich--that is to say at Granny
Ulitka's.

'Goodness knows what it will be like, Dmitri Andreich,' said the
panting Vanyusha to Olenin, who, dressed in a Circassian coat and
mounted on a Kabarda horse which he had bought in Groznoe, was
after a five-hours' march gaily entering the yard of the quarters
assigned to him.

'Why, what's the matter?' he asked, caressing his horse and
looking merrily at the perspiring, dishevelled, and worried
Vanyusha, who had arrived with the baggage wagons and was
unpacking.

Olenin looked quite a different man. In place of his clean-shaven
lips and chin he had a youthful moustache and a small beard.
Instead of a sallow complexion, the result of nights turned into
day, his cheeks, his forehead, and the skin behind his ears were
now red with healthy sunburn. In place of a clean new black suit
he wore a dirty white Circassian coat with a deeply pleated skirt,
and he bore arms. Instead of a freshly starched collar, his neck
was tightly clasped by the red band of his silk BESHMET. He wore
Circassian dress but did not wear it well, and anyone would have
known him for a Russian and not a Tartar brave. It was the thing--
but not the real thing. But for all that, his whole person
breathed health, joy, and satisfaction.

'Yes, it seems funny to you,' said Vanyusha, 'but just try to talk
to these people yourself: they set themselves against one and
there's an end of it. You can't get as much as a word out of
them.' Vanyusha angrily threw down a pail on the threshold.
'Somehow they don't seem like Russians.'

'You should speak to the Chief of the Village!'

'But I don't know where he lives,' said Vanyusha in an offended
tone.

'Who has upset you so?' asked Olenin, looking round.

'The devil only knows. Faugh! There is no real master here. They
say he has gone to some kind of KRIGA, and the old woman is a real
devil. God preserve us!' answered Vanyusha, putting his hands to
his head. 'How we shall live here I don't know. They are worse
than Tartars, I do declare--though they consider themselves
Christians! A Tartar is bad enough, but all the same he is more
noble. Gone to the KRIGA indeed! What this KRIGA they have
invented is, I don't know!' concluded Vanyusha, and turned aside.

'It's not as it is in the serfs' quarters at home, eh?' chaffed
Olenin without dismounting.

'Please sir, may I have your horse?' said Vanyusha, evidently
perplexed by this new order of things but resigning himself to his
fate.

'So a Tartar is more noble, eh, Vanyusha?' repeated Olenin,
dismounting and slapping the