“Well, how is it, Toúrbin? It seems very nice here. But I am tired, I must confess. It was hot.”
“Very nice! … A filthy, stinking hut, and, thanks to your lordship, no rum; your blockhead bought none, nor did this one. You might at least have mentioned it.”
And he continued to read his letter. When he had finished it he rolled it into a ball and threw it on the floor.
In the passage the Cornet was meanwhile saying to his orderly in a whisper: “Why didn’t you buy any rum? You had money enough, you know.”
“But why should we buy everything? As it is I pay for everything, while his German does nothing but smoke his pipe.”
It was evident the Count’s second letter was not unpleasant, for he smiled as he read it.
“Who is it from?” asked Pólozof, when he returned to the room and began arranging a sleeping-place for himself on some boards by the oven.
“From Mína,” answered the Count gaily, handing him the letter. “Do you want to see it? What a delightful woman she is! … Really now, she’s better than our young ladies. … Just see how much feeling and wit there is in that letter. Only one thing is bad—she’s asking for money.”
“Yes, that’s bad,” said the Cornet.
“It is true I promised her some, but then this campaign came on, and besides. … However, if I remain in command of the squadron another three months I’ll send her some. It’s worth it, really; such a charming creature, eh?” said he, watching the expression on Pólozof’s face as the latter read the letter.