of this place.'

'I hear we shall start on a raid soon.'

'I have not heard of it; but I have heard that Krinovitsin has received
the Order of St. Anna for a raid. He expected a lieutenancy,' said
Beletski laughing. 'He was let in! He has set off for headquarters.'

It was growing dusk and Olenin began thinking about the party. The
invitation he had received worried him. He felt inclined to go, but
what might take place there seemed strange, absurd, and even rather
alarming. He knew that neither Cossack men nor older women, nor anyone
besides the girls, were to be there. What was going to happen? How was
he to behave? What would they talk about? What connexion was there
between him and those wild Cossack girls? Beletski had told him of such
curious, cynical, and yet rigid relations. It seemed strange to think
that he would be there in the same hut with Maryanka and perhaps might
have to talk to her. It seemed to him impossible when he remembered her
majestic bearing. But Beletski spoke of it as if it were all perfectly
simple. 'Is it possible that Beletski will treat Maryanka in the same
way? That is interesting,' thought he. 'No, better not go. It's all so
horrid, so vulgar, and above all--it leads to nothing!' But again he
was worried by the question of what would take place; and besides he
felt as if bound by a promise. He went out without having made up his
mind one way or the other, but he walked as far as Beletski's, and went
in there.

The hut in which Beletski lived was like Olenin's. It was raised nearly
five feet from the ground on wooden piles, and had two rooms. In the
first (which Olenin entered by the steep flight of steps) feather beds,
rugs, blankets, and cushions were tastefully and handsomely arranged,
Cossack fashion, along the main wall. On the side wall hung brass
basins and weapons, while on the floor, under a bench, lay watermelons
and pumpkins. In the second room there was a big brick oven, a table,
and sectarian icons. It was here that Beletski was quartered, with his
camp-bed and his pack and trunks. His weapons hung on the wall with a
little rug behind them, and on the table were his toilet appliances and
some portraits. A silk dressing-gown had been thrown on the bench.
Beletski himself, clean and good-looking, lay on the bed in his
underclothing, reading Les Trois Mousquetaires.

He jumped up.

'There, you see how I have arranged things. Fine! Well, it's good that
you have come. They