. They were walking now along the
little path that led down to the river, and then ran along the
water's edge, winding round the bushes on the bank, the pools, and
the willows that overhung the water. The bank and the path were
scarcely visible, and the other bank was entirely plunged in darkness.
Stars were reflected here and there on the dark water; they quivered
and were broken up on the surface--and from that alone it could
be seen that the river was flowing rapidly. It was still. Drowsy
curlews cried plaintively on the further bank, and in one of the
bushes on the nearest side a nightingale was trilling loudly, taking
no notice of the crowd of officers. The officers stood round the
bush, touched it, but the nightingale went on singing.

"What a fellow!" they exclaimed approvingly. "We stand beside him
and he takes not a bit of notice! What a rascal!"

At the end of the way the path went uphill, and, skirting the church
enclosure, turned into the road. Here the officers, tired with
walking uphill, sat down and lighted their cigarettes. On the other
side of the river a murky red fire came into sight, and having
nothing better to do, they spent a long time in discussing whether
it was a camp fire or a light in a window, or something else. . . .
Ryabovitch, too, looked at the light, and he fancied that the
light looked and winked at him, as though it knew about the kiss.

On reaching his quarters, Ryabovitch undressed as quickly as possible
and got into bed. Lobytko and Lieutenant Merzlyakov--a peaceable,
silent fellow, who was considered in his own circle a highly educated
officer, and was always, whenever it was possible, reading the
"Vyestnik Evropi," which he carried about with him everywhere--
were quartered in the same hut with Ryabovitch. Lobytko undressed,
walked up and down the room for a long while with the air of a man
who has not been satisfied, and sent his orderly for beer. Merzlyakov
got into bed, put a candle by his pillow and plunged into reading
the "Vyestnik Evropi."

"Who was she?" Ryabovitch wondered, looking at the smoky ceiling.

His neck still felt as though he had been anointed with oil, and
there was still the chilly sensation near his mouth as though from
peppermint drops. The shoulders and arms of the young lady in lilac,
the brow and the truthful eyes of the fair girl in black, waists,
dresses, and brooches, floated through his imagination. He tried
to fix his attention on these image