Styopushka started. The peasant sat down by us. We sank into silence
again. On the other bank someone was singing a song--but such a
mournful one. Our poor Vlass grew deeply dejected.

Half-an-hour later we parted.



IV

THE DISTRICT DOCTOR


One day in autumn on my way back from a remote part of the country I
caught cold and fell ill. Fortunately the fever attacked me in the
district town at the inn; I sent for the doctor. In half-an-hour the
district doctor appeared, a thin, dark-haired man of middle height. He
prescribed me the usual sudorific, ordered a mustard-plaster to be put
on, very deftly slid a five-rouble note up his sleeve, coughing drily
and looking away as he did so, and then was getting up to go home, but
somehow fell into talk and remained. I was exhausted with feverishness;
I foresaw a sleepless night, and was glad of a little chat with a
pleasant companion. Tea was served. My doctor began to converse freely.
He was a sensible fellow, and expressed himself with vigour and some
humour. Queer things happen in the world: you may live a long while
with some people, and be on friendly terms with them, and never once
speak openly with them from your soul; with others you have scarcely
time to get acquainted, and all at once you are pouring out to him--or
he to you--all your secrets, as though you were at confession. I don't
know how I gained the confidence of my new friend--any way, with