CHAPTER IV
“TELL me, what became of Kazbich?” I asked the staff-captain impatiently.
“Why, what can happen to that sort of a fellow?” he answered, finishing his tumbler of tea. “He slipped away, of course.”
“And wasn’t he wounded?” I asked.
“Goodness only knows! Those scoundrels take a lot of killing! In action, for instance, I’ve seen many a one, sir, stuck all over with bayonets like a sieve, and still brandishing his sabre.”
After an interval of silence the staff-captain continued, tapping the ground with his foot:
“One thing I’ll never forgive myself for. On our arrival at the fortress the devil put it into my head to repeat to Grigori Aleksandrovich all that I had heard when I was eavesdropping behind the fence. He laughed—cunning fellow!—and thought out a little plan of his own.”
“What was that? Tell me, please.”
“Well, there’s no help for it now, I suppose. I’ve begun the story, and so I must continue.