, and whether they were Old Believers or
not--was all quite immaterial. Having received their pay and been
dismissed, tired out and covered with dust, the soldiers noisily and in
disorder, like a swarm of bees about to settle, spread over the squares
and streets; quite regardless of the Cossacks' ill will, chattering
merrily and with their muskets clinking, by twos and threes they
entered the huts and hung up their accoutrements, unpacked their bags,
and bantered the women. At their favourite spot, round the
porridge-cauldrons, a large group of soldiers assembled and with little
pipes between their teeth they gazed, now at the smoke which rose into
the hot sky, becoming visible when it thickened into white clouds as it
rose, and now at the camp fires which were quivering in the pure air
like molten glass, and bantered and made fun of the Cossack men and
women because they do not live at all like Russians. In all the yards
one could see soldiers and hear their laughter and the exasperated and
shrill cries of Cossack women defending their houses and refusing to
give the soldiers water or cooking utensils. Little boys and girls,
clinging to their mothers and to each other, followed all the movements
of the troopers (never before seen by them) with frightened curiosity,
or ran after them at a respectful distance. The old Cossacks came out
silently and dismally and sat on the earthen embankments of their huts,
and watched the soldiers' activity with an air of leaving it all to the
will of God without understanding what would come of it.

Olenin, who had joined the Caucasian Army as a cadet 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, an