A few days later, upon the evening of the eighteenth of the month, an erect, smartly uniformed young officer entered a tent midway down the narrow, canvas-lined street and flung himself, wearily, upon one of the two camp-beds that flanked the little room. It was several moments before he rose to remove his accoutrements, his boots and his clothes, wrap himself in a most unmilitary dressing-gown, and throw himself down once more with a sigh of relief.
It was past nine o'clock; but the sun was still above the edge of the horizon, and its beams had that soft, whitish, unnatural light of the northern summer night. A faint breeze came down from the waters of the gulf, lifting away the fetid odors of the huge camp, and bringing relief to the thousands of wet and dirty men who were half prostrated by heat and unwonted exercise. Ivan, who had lain gazing moodily through the lifted flap of the tent, had fallen into a light doze before de Windt, more than ever his companion, came quietly in, and repeated the actions of his comrade. Finally, when he was comfortably abed and puffing away at a short meerschaum, he turned to his comrade, stared at him for an instant, and then called him by name, twice.
At the second summons Ivan started, shook himself, and turned towards the other bed: "What did you say? When did you come in, Vladimir? How long since you left the mess?"
"Twenty minutes, about."
"And—?" Ivan paused, for an instant, while a frown appeared between his brows, "they are—discussing the usual theme?"
"All evening.—It seems there are developments.—But where were you for dinner?"
The frown deepened. "Potapoff of the engineers had asked me over to their mess—very civilly.—You know I've seen a good deal of him lately, because of that survey I've been working out.—I went, suspecting nothing. But I soon discovered it was only to see how much they could pump me with regard to—to this d—— situation of ours. I tell you, it's all through the camp."
De Windt sat up, with an ejaculation of deep disgust. "Well—you didn't—they didn't get anything out of you, did they?"
"Holy Virgin!—D'ye think I'm proud of the fix? D'ye think the regiment doesn't mean as much to me as to you?—I left them the minute tea came in; and I lay here thinking about it when I dozed off."
"Vladimir Vassilyitch, the thing can't go on. It can't! We'll be degraded for good. Two years hence, the report that a fellow's been in this regiment will come near ruining him.—And yet—what Brodsky's about, I simply can't fathom. He's been on parade exactly twice since we pitched tent; and both times, if the men hadn't known his general habits at manœuvre, they'd have been stumped to obey. Zedarovsky said he could barely mumble.—Vladimir, the man's an animal.—But, I say, what are the developments you spoke of?"