officer of yours seemed to have some doubts about his honor."
"Well, that's because he . . . Nikíta, have n't we any-of that red Kavkas wine[1] left?" I asked, very much enlivened by Guskof's conversational talent. Nikíta still kept muttering; but he brought us the red wine, and again looked on angrily as Guskof drained his glass. In Guskof's behavior was noticeable his old freedom from constraint. I wished that he would go as soon as possible; it seemed as if his only reason for not going was because he did not wish to go immediately after receiving the money. I said nothing.
"How could you, who have means, and were under no necessity, simply de gaiété de cœur, make up your mind to come and serve in the Caucasus? That's what I don't understand," said he to me.
I endeavored to explain this act of renunciation, which seemed so strange to him.
"I can imagine how disagreeable the society of those officers—men without any comprehension of culture—must be for you. You could not understand each other. You see, you might live ten years, and not see anything, and not hear about anything, except cards, wine, and gossip about rewards and campaigns."
It was unpleasant for me, that he wished me
- ↑ Chikír.
