"Hey! You, listen: If anyone speaks to us, keep still, if you value your skin. Do you understand?"
"Alas!" hopelessly sighed Gavrilo, in response to this stern command, and he added: "It was my lot to be lost!"
"Stop howling!" whispered Tchelkache.
These words completely robbed Gavrilo of all understanding and he remained crushed under the chill presentiment of some misfortune. He mechanically dipped his oars and sending them back and forth through the water in an even and steady stroke did not lift his eyes again.
The slumbering murmur of the waves was gloomy and fearsome. Here is the harbor. . . From behind its stone wall, comes the sound of human voices, the plashing of water, singing and shrill whistling."
"Stop!" whispered Tchelkache.
"Drop the oars! Lean your hands against the wall! Softly, devil!"
Gavrilo caught hold of the slippery stone and guided the boat along the wall. He advanced noiselessly, just grazing the slimy moss of the stone.
"Stop, give me the oars! Give them here! And your passport, where have you put it? In your bag! Give me the bag! Quicker! . . . That, my friend, is so that you'll not run away. . . Now I hold you. Without oars you could have made off just the same, but, without a passport you'll not dare. Wait! And remember that if you so much as breathe a word I'll catch you, even though at the bottom of the sea."
Suddenly, catching hold of something, Tchelkache rose in the air; he disappeared over the wall.