"Has he been knocked about?" asked "Scraps," with curiosity.
The captain did not answer, for at that moment he was drinking vodka.
"It's just as if he knew that we had something extra for his funeral feast," said "Scraps," lighting a cigarette.
One of them laughed, and another sighed heavily, but on the whole the conversation of "Scraps" and the captain did not produce much impression on the company; at least there were no apparent signs of trouble, of interest, or of thought. All had looked upon the schoolmaster as a man rather out of the common, but now most of them were drunk, and the rest remained calm and outwardly detached from what was going forward. Only the deacon evinced signs of violent agitation; his lips moved, he rubbed his forehead, and wildly howled—
"Peace be to the dead!..."
"Stop it!" hissed "Scraps." "What are you howling about?"
"Smash his jaw!" said the captain.
"You fool!" hissed Tiapa. "When a soul is passing, you should keep quiet, and not break the silence."
It was quiet enough; in the cloud-covered sky, which threatened rain, and on the earth, shrouded in the still silence of an autumn night. At intervals the silence was broken by the snoring of those who had fallen asleep; by the gurgle of vodka being poured from the bottle, or the noisy munching of food. The deacon was muttering something. The clouds hung so low that it almost seemed as if they would catch the roof of the old house, and overturn it on to the outcasts.
"Ah! how one suffers when a dear friend is passing away!" stammered the captain, dropping his head on his chest.