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“Well? You have been popping away!” he said, smiling good-
humoredly.
“How have you got on?” queried Levin. But there was no need to
ask, for he had already seen the full game bag.
“Oh, pretty fair.”
He had fourteen birds.
“A splendid marsh! I’ve no doubt Veslovsky got in your way. It’s
awkward too, shooting with one dog,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, to
soften his triumph.
Chapter 11.
When Levin and Stepan Arkadyevitch reached the peasant’s hut
where Levin always used to stay, Veslovsky was already there. He was
sitting in the middle of the hut, clinging with both hands to the bench
from which he was being pulled by a soldier, the brother of the peasant’s
wife, who was helping him off with his miry boots. Veslovsky was
laughing his infectious, good-humored laugh.
“I’ve only just come. Ils ont ete charmants. Just fancy, they gave
me drink, fed me! Such bread, it was exquisite! Delicieux! And the
vodka, I never tasted any better. And they would not take a penny for
anything. And they kept saying: ‘Excuse our homely ways.’”
“What should they take anything for? They were entertaining
you, to be sure. Do you suppose they keep vodka for sale?” said the
soldier, succeeding at last in pulling the soaked boot off the blackened
stocking.
In spite of the dirtiness of the hut, which was all muddied by their
boots and the filthy dogs licking themselves clean, and the smell of
marsh mud and powder that filled the room, and the absence of knives
and forks, the party drank their tea and ate their supper with a relish
only known to sportsmen. Washed and clean, they went into a hay-
barn swept ready for them, where the coachman had been making up
beds for the gentlemen.