Short Fiction by Leo Tolstoy (book reader for pc TXT) 📕

The hut was fairly large and roomy, but not very clean. The German valet, dressed like a gentleman, stood inside sorting the linen in a portmanteau, after having set up an iron bedstead and made the bed.

“Faugh, what filthy lodgings!” said the Count, with vexation. “Dyádenko! could you not find anything better at some gentleman’s house?”

“If your excellency desires it I will try at the manor-house,” answered the Quartermaster; “but it is not up to much⁠—does not look much better than a hut.”

“Never mind now. Go away.”

And the Count lay down on the bed, and threw his arms behind his head.

“Johann!” he called to his valet, “again you’ve made a lump in the middle! How is it you can’t make a bed properly?”

Johann wished to put it right.

“No, never mind now. But where is my dressing-gown?” said the Count, in a dissatisfied tone.

The valet handed him the dressing-gown. The Count before putting it on examined the front.

“I thought so; that spot is not cleaned off. Could anyone be a worse servant than you?” he added, pulling the dressing-gown out of the valet’s hands and putting it on. “Tell me, do you do it on purpose?⁠ ⁠… Is the tea ready?”

“I have not had time,” said Johann.

“Fool!”

After that the Count took up the French novel laid out for him, and read for some time in silence: and Johann went out into the passage to heat the samovar. The Count was obviously in a bad temper, probably caused by fatigue, a dirty face, tight clothing, and an empty stomach.

“Johann!” he cried again, “bring me the account for those ten roubles. What did you buy in the town?”

The Count looked over the account handed to him, and made some dissatisfied remarks about the dearness of the things purchased.

“Serve rum with my tea.”

“I did not buy any rum,” said Johann.

“That’s good!⁠ ⁠… How many times have I told you to have rum?”

“I had not enough money.”

“Then why did not Pólozof buy some? You should have got some from his man.”

“Cornet Pólozof? I don’t know. He bought the tea and the sugar.”

“Idiot!⁠ ⁠… Go!⁠ ⁠… You alone know how to make me lose my patience.⁠ ⁠… You know that on a march I always drink rum with my tea.”

“Here are two letters for you from headquarters,” said the valet.

The Count opened his letters and began reading them without rising. The Cornet, having quartered the squadron, came in with a merry face.

“Well, how is it, Toúrbin? It seems very nice here. But I am tired, I must confess. It was hot.”

“Very nice!⁠ ⁠… A filthy, stinking hut, and, thanks to your lordship, no rum; your blockhead bought none, nor did this one. You might at least have mentioned it.”

And he continued to read his letter. When he had finished it he rolled it into a ball and threw it on the floor.

In the passage the Cornet was meanwhile saying to his orderly in a whisper: “Why didn’t you buy any rum? You had money enough, you know.”

“But why should we buy everything? As it is I pay for everything, while his German does nothing but smoke his pipe.”

It was evident the Count’s second letter was not unpleasant, for he smiled as he read it.

“Who is it from?” asked Pólozof, when he returned to the room and began arranging a sleeping-place for himself on some boards by the oven.

“From Mína,” answered the Count gaily, handing him the letter. “Do you want to see it? What a delightful woman she is!⁠ ⁠… Really now, she’s better than our young ladies.⁠ ⁠… Just see how much feeling and wit there is in that letter. Only one thing is bad⁠—she’s asking for money.”

“Yes, that’s bad,” said the Cornet.

“It is true I promised her some, but then this campaign came on, and besides.⁠ ⁠… However, if I remain in command of the squadron another three months I’ll send her some. It’s worth it, really; such a charming creature, eh?” said he, watching the expression on Pólozof’s face as the latter read the letter.

“Awfully ungrammatical, but very nice, and it seems as if she really loves you,” said the Cornet.

“H’m.⁠ ⁠… I should think so! It’s only women of that kind who love sincerely when once they do love.”

“And who was the other letter from?” asked the Cornet, handing back the one he had read.

“Oh, that’s so⁠ ⁠… there’s a man, a very horrid man, who won from me at cards, and he is reminding me of it for the third time.⁠ ⁠… I can’t let him have it at present.⁠ ⁠… A stupid letter!” said the Count, evidently vexed at the recollection.

After these words both officers were silent for a while. The Cornet, who was evidently under the Count’s influence, glanced now and then at the handsome though clouded countenance of Toúrbin⁠—who looked fixedly towards the window⁠—drank his tea silently, and did not venture to start a conversation.

“But, d’you know, it may turn out capitally,” said the Count, with a shake of his head, suddenly turning to Pólozof. “Supposing we get promotions by seniority this year, and take part in some action besides. I may get ahead of my own captains in the Guards.”

The conversation was still on the same topic, and they were drinking their second tumblers of tea, when old Daniel entered and delivered Anna Fyódorovna’s message.

“And I was also to inquire if you are not Count Fyódor Ivánitch Toúrbin’s son?” added Daniel of his own accord, having learnt the Count’s name, and remembering the deceased Count’s sojourn in the town of K⁠⸺. “Our mistress, Anna Fyódorovna, was very well acquainted with him.”

“He was my father. And tell your mistress I am very much obliged to her. We want nothing, but say we told you to ask whether we could not have a cleaner room somewhere⁠—at the manor-house⁠—or anywhere.”

“Now, why did you do that?” asked Pólozof, when Daniel had gone. “What does it matter? Just for one night⁠—what matter? And they will be inconveniencing themselves.”

“What an idea! I think we’ve had our share of smoky huts!⁠ ⁠… One