BOOK TWO: 1805
4. CHAPTER IV
(continued)
"You see, my fwiend," he said, "we sleep when we don't love. We
are childwen of the dust... but one falls in love and one is a God,
one is pua' as on the first day of cweation... Who's that now? Send
him to the devil, I'm busy!" he shouted to Lavrushka, who went up to
him not in the least abashed.
"Who should it be? You yourself told him to come. It's the
quartermaster for the money."
Denisov frowned and was about to shout some reply but stopped.
"Wetched business," he muttered to himself. "How much is left in the
puhse?" he asked, turning to Rostov.
"Seven new and three old imperials."
"Oh, it's wetched! Well, what are you standing there for, you
sca'cwow? Call the quahtehmasteh," he shouted to Lavrushka.
"Please, Denisov, let me lend you some: I have some, you know," said
Rostov, blushing.
"Don't like bowwowing from my own fellows, I don't," growled
Denisov.
"But if you won't accept money from me like a comrade, you will
offend me. Really I have some," Rostov repeated.
"No, I tell you."
And Denisov went to the bed to get the purse from under the pillow.
"Where have you put it, Wostov?"
"Under the lower pillow."
"It's not there."
Denisov threw both pillows on the floor. The purse was not there.
"That's a miwacle."
"Wait, haven't you dropped it?" said Rostov, picking up the
pillows one at a time and shaking them.
|