Aliosha, a boy of eight with a rough shock of blond hair, who had lacked but two tricks of being a king himself, now cast eyes of resentment and envy at the porter. He pouted and frowned.
“I’m going to lead up to you, grandpa,” he said, pondering over his cards. “I know you must have the queen of hearts.”
“Come, little stupid, stop thinking and play!”
Aliosha irresolutely led the knave of hearts. At that moment a bell rang in the courtyard.
“Oh, the devil—” muttered the porter rising. “The king must go and open the gate.”
When he returned a few moments later Aliosha was already a prince, the herring-man was a soldier, and the coachman was a peasant.
“It’s a bad business in there,” said the porter resuming his seat. “I have just seen the doctor off. They didn’t get it out.”
“Huh! How could they? All they did, I’ll be bound, was to make a hole in his head. When a man has a bullet in his brain it’s no use to bother with doctors!”
“He is lying unconscious,” continued the porter. “He will surely die. Aliosha, don’t look at my cards, lambkin, or you’ll get your ears boxed. Yes, it was out with the doctor, and in with his father and mother; they have just come. The Lord forbid such a crying and moaning as they are carrying on! They keep saying that he was their only son. It’s a pity!”
All, except Aliosha who was engrossed in the game, glanced up at the lighted windows.