me ... you were wounded?'

'Ah! yes, it's quite a history,' he replied. 'I'll tell you it later.
Yes, I was wounded, and only fancy what by?--an arrow.'

'An arrow?'

'Yes, an arrow; only not a mythological one, not Cupid's arrow, but a
real arrow of very flexible wood, with a sharply-pointed tip at one
end.... A very unpleasant sensation is produced by such an arrow,
especially when it sticks in one's lungs.'

'But however did it come about? upon my word!...'

'I'll tell you how it happened. You know there always was a great deal
of the absurd in my life. Do you remember my comical correspondence
about getting my passport? Well, I was wounded in an absurd fashion
too. And if you come to think of it, what self-respecting person in our
enlightened century would permit himself to be wounded by an arrow? And
not accidentally--observe--not at sports of any sort, but in a battle.'

'But you still don't tell me ...'

'All right, wait a minute,' he interrupted. 'You know that soon after
you left Petersburg I was transferred to Novgorod. I was a good time at
Novgorod, and I must own I was bored there, though even there I came
across one creature....' (He sighed.) ... 'But no matter about that
now; two years ago I got a capital little berth, some way off, it's
true, in the Irkutsk province, but what of that! It seems as though my
father and I were destined from birth to visit Siberia. A splendid