The elder brother scowled and kept silent.
“Do you owe much?” he asked at last, without looking at him.
“No, not much; but it worries me awfully. He paid three posts for me. I used his sugar, and then we played the game of preference, and I owe him a trifle on that.”
“That’s bad, Volodia! What would you have done if you hadn’t met me?” said the elder, in a stern tone, never looking at him.
“But you know I count on receiving my travelling expenses at Sebastopol, and then I shall pay him. That can still be done; and so I had rather go there with him to-morrow.”
At this moment the elder brother took a purse out of his pocket, from which his trembling fingers drew two notes of ten rubles each and one of three.
“Here’s all I have,” said he. “How much do you want?” He exaggerated a little in saying that it was all his fortune, for he still had four gold-pieces sewn in the seams of his uniform, but he had promised himself not to touch them.
It was found, on adding up, that Koseltzoff owed only eight rubles—the loss on the game and the sugar together. The elder brother gave them to him, making the remark that one never ought to play when he had not the wherewithal to pay. The younger said nothing; for his brother’s remark seemed to throw a doubt on his honesty. Irritated, ashamed of having done something which could lead to suspicions or reflections on his character on the part of his brother, of whom he was fond, his sensitive nature was so violently agitated by it that, feeling it impossible to stifle the sobs which choked him, he took the note without a word and carried it to his comrade.
VII.
Nikolaïeff, after refreshing himself at Douvanka with two glasses of brandy which he bought from a soldier who was selling it on the bridge, shook the reins, and the carriage jolted over the stony road which, with spots of shadow at rare intervals, led along Belbek to Sebastopol; while the brothers, seated side by side, their legs knocking together, kept an obstinate silence, each thinking about the other.