“I came by my own wish,” replied Olénin. “I wanted to see your parts and to join some expeditions.”
“I would go on an expedition any day,” said Lukáshka. “D’you hear the jackals howling?” he added, listening.
“I say, don’t you feel any horror at having killed a man?” asked Olénin.
“What’s there to be frightened about? But I should like to join an expedition,” Lukáshka repeated. “How I want to! How I want to!”
“Perhaps we may be going together. Our company is going before the holidays, and your ‘hundred’ too.”
“And what did you want to come here for? You’ve a house and horses and serfs. In your place I’d do nothing but make merry! And what is your rank?”
“I am a cadet, but have been recommended for a commission.”
“Well, if you’re not bragging about your home, if I were you I’d never have left it! Yes, I’d never have gone away anywhere. Do you find it pleasant living among us?”
“Yes, very pleasant,” answered Olénin.
It had grown quite dark before, talking in this way, they approached the village. They were still surrounded by the deep gloom of the forest. The wind howled through the tree-tops. The jackals suddenly seemed to be crying close beside them, howling, chuckling, and sobbing; but ahead of them in the village the sounds of women’s voices and the barking of dogs could already be heard; the outlines of the huts were clearly to be seen; lights gleamed and the air was filled with the peculiar smell of kisyak smoke. Olénin felt keenly, that night especially, that here in this village was his home, his family, all his happiness, and that he never had and never would live so happily anywhere as he did in this Cossack village. He was so fond of everybody and especially of Lukáshka that night. On reaching home, to Lukáshka’s great surprise, Olénin with his own hands led out of the shed a horse he had bought in Gróznoe—it was not the one he usually rode but another—not a bad horse though no longer young, and gave it to Lukáshka.