"It means," I answered him, with the most innocent face in the world, "to treat someone kindly, not too strictly, to leave him plenty of liberty; that is what holding with gloves of porcupine-skin means."
"Humph! I understand."
"'And not give him any liberty'—No; it seems that porcupine-skin gloves means something quite different.' Enclosed is his commission'—Where is it then? Ah! here it is!—'in the roll of the Séménofsky Regiment'—All right; everything necessary shall be done. 'Allow me to salute you without ceremony, and like an old friend and comrade'—Ah! he has at last remembered it all," etc., etc.
"Well, my little father," said he, after he had finished the letter and put my commission aside, "all shall be done; you shall be an officer in the ——th Regiment, and you shall go to-morrow to Fort Bélogorsk, where you will serve under the orders of Commandant Mironoff, a brave and worthy man. There you will really serve and learn discipline. There is nothing for you to do at Orenburg; amusement is bad for a young man. To-day I invite you to dine with me."
"Worse and worse," thought I to myself. "What good has it done me to have been a sergeant in the Guard from my cradle? Where has it brought me? To the ——th Regiment, and to a fort stranded on the frontier of the Kirghiz-Kaïsak Steppes!"
I dined at Andréj Karlovitch's, in the company of his old aide de camp. Strict German economy was the rule at his table, and I think that the dread of a frequent guest at his bachelor's table contributed not a little to my being so promptly sent away to a distant garrison.
The next day I took leave of the General, and started for my destination.