“I’ve no money,” answered Polikéy, and to comfort him, added: “Who knows? By God’s help you may be rejected! …”
“No, friend. I’m as sound as a young birch. I’ve never had an illness. There’s no rejecting for me! What better soldier can the Tsar want?”
Polikéy began telling him how a peasant gave the doctor a five-rouble note and got rejected.
Elijah drew nearer the oven, and started talking.
“No, Polikéy, it’s all up now! I don’t wish to stay myself. Uncle has done for me. As if we could not have bought a substitute! … No, he pities his son, and grudges the money, so they send me. No! I don’t want to stay myself.” He spoke gently, confidingly, under the influence of quiet sorrow. “One thing only—I am sorry for mother, dear heart! … How she grieved! And the missus, too! … They’ve ruined the woman just for nothing; now she’ll perish—in a word, she’ll be a soldier’s wife! Better not have married. Why did they marry me? … They’ll come here tomorrow.”
“But why have they brought you so soon?” asked Polikéy; “nothing was heard about it, and then, all of a sudden …”
“Why, they’re afraid I shall do myself some injury,” answered Elijah, smiling. “No fear! I’ll do nothing of the kind. I shall not be lost even as a soldier; only I’m sorry for mother. … Why did they marry me?” he said gently and sadly.
The door opened and banged loudly as old Doútlof came in, shaking the wet off his cap, and, as usual, in bark shoes so big that they looked like boats.
“Athanasius,” he said to the porter, when he had crossed himself, “isn’t there a lantern, to get some oats by?”