The pet name Volódya touched the younger brother. He longed to put matters right with the elder, who had no idea that he had given offence.

“You are not angry with me, Mísha?” he asked after a minute’s pause.

“Angry? What for?”

“Oh, nothing⁠ ⁠… only because of what passed⁠ ⁠… it’s nothing.”

“Not at all,” answered the elder, turning towards him and slapping him on the knee.

“Then forgive me if I have pained you, Mísha.” And the younger brother turned away to hide the tears that suddenly filled his eyes.

“Can this be Sevastopol already?” asked the younger brother when they reached the top of the hill.