'It doesn't matter,' answered Bazarov; 'we've only just arrived ourselves.'
'Ah! so much the better!' Pavel Petrovitch took a look round. 'There's no one in sight; no one hinders us. We can proceed?'
'Let us proceed.'
'You do not, I presume, desire any fresh explanations?'
'No, I don't.'
'Would you like to load?' inquired Pavel Petrovitch, taking the pistols out of the box.
'No; you load, and I will measure out the paces. My legs are longer,' added Bazarov with a smile. 'One, two, three.'
'Yevgeny Vassilyevitch,' Piotr faltered with an effort (he shaking as though he were in a fever), 'say what you like, I am going farther off.'
'Four ... five.... Good. Move away, my good fellow, move away; you may get behind a tree even, and stop up your ears, only don't shut your eyes; and if any one falls, run and pick him up. Six ... seven ... eight....' Bazarov stopped. 'Is that enough?' he said, turning to Pavel Petrovitch; 'or shall I add two paces more?'
'As you like,' replied the latter, pressing down the second bullet.
'Well, we'll make it two paces more.'
