Next day at eleven o’clock in the morning Kister’s
second, an old major of tried merit, came for him.
The good old man growled to himself, bit his grey
moustaches, and wished Avdey Ivanovitch everything
unpleasant.... The carriage was brought to the
door. Kister handed the major two letters, one
for his mother, the other for Masha.
‘What’s this for?’
‘Well, one can never tell...’
‘Nonsense! we’ll shoot him like a partridge...’
‘Any way it’s better...’
The major with vexation stuffed the two letters in
the side pocket of his coat.
‘Let us start.’
They set off. In a small copse, a mile and a
half from the village of Kirilovo, Lutchkov was awaiting
them with his former friend, the perfumed adjutant.
It was lovely weather, the birds were twittering peacefully;
not far from the copse a peasant was tilling the ground.
While the seconds were marking out the distance, fixing
the barrier, examining and loading the pistols, the
opponents did not even glance at one another....
Kister walked to and fro with a careless air, swinging
a flower he had gathered; Avdey stood motionless,
with folded arms and scowling brow. The decisive
moment arrived. ‘Begin, gentlemen!’
Kister went rapidly towards the barrier, but he had
not gone five steps before Avdey fired, Kister started,
made one more step forward, staggered. His head
sank... His knees bent under him... He fell
like a sack on the grass. The major rushed up
to him.... ‘Is it possible?’ whispered
the dying man.
Avdey went up to the man he had killed. On his
gloomy and sunken face was a look of savage, exasperated
regret.... He looked at the adjutant and the
major, bent his head like a guilty man, got on his
horse without a word, and rode slowly straight to
the colonel’s quarters.
Masha... is living to this day.
‘Neighbours’ constitute one of the most
serious drawbacks of life in the country. I knew
a country gentleman of the Vologodsky district, who
used on every suitable occasion to repeat the following
words, ’Thank God, I have no neighbours,’
and I confess I could not help envying that happy
mortal. My own little place is situated in one
of the most thickly peopled provinces of Russia.
I am surrounded by a vast number of dear neighbours,
from highly respectable and highly respected country
gentlemen, attired in ample frockcoats and still more
ample waistcoats, down to regular loafers, wearing
jackets with long sleeves and a so-called shooting-bag
on their back. In this crowd of gentlefolks I
chanced, however, to discover one very pleasant fellow.
He had served in the army, had retired and settled
for good and all in the country. According to
his story, he had served for two years in the B------
regiment. But I am totally unable to comprehend
how that man could have performed any sort of duty,
