The party ended with drinking and singing. Ivan Matveevich, who was very drunk and no longer red, but pale and grey in the face, sat astride a chair cutting down imaginary enemies with his drawn sword; he was swearing, laughing, embracing people and dancing to his favourite song
‘In years gone by Shamil rose up, Ho-ro-ro, Shamil rose up’.
Butler was also present.
In this, too, he tried to see the romance of military life, but deep down he felt sorry for Ivan Matveevich, though there was no way of stopping him.
And Butler, feeling slightly drunk, quietly left and set off home.
A full moon was shining on the white houses and on the stones in the road.
It was so light you could see every small stone, every piece of straw and dung on the road.
As he approached thc house Butler met Marya Dmitrievna wearing a shawl over her head and shoulders.
After the rebuff she had given him Butler had rather shamefacedly avoided her.
But now in the moonlight and under the influence of the wine he had drunk Butler was glad to meet her and tried again to make up to her.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
‘To see what the old man is up to,’ she answered amicably.
She had been quite sincere and positive in her rejection of Butler’s advances, but she was displeased that he had been avoiding her of late.
‘What’s the point of going after him? He’ll get home.’
‘But will he?’
‘If he can’t, they’ll carry him.’
‘That’s just it, and it really isn’t good enough,’ said Marya Dmitrievna.
‘You think I shouldn’t go then?’
‘No, I shouldn’t.
We had best go home.’
Marya Dmitrievna turned back and began walking to the house with Butler.
The moon was so bright that around their shadows moving along the roadside was a moving halo of light.
Butler watched this halo round his head and wanted to tell Marya Dmitrievna hat he found her as attractive as ever, but did not know how to begin.
She waited for him to speak.
Walking thus in silence they had almost reached the house when round the corner appeared some horsemen.
It was an officer and escort.
‘Who on earth is that?’ said Marya Dmitrievna, stepping to the side.
The moon was behind the officer and it was only when he was practically level with them that Marya Dmitrievna saw who it was.
The officer was Kamenev, who served at one time with Ivan Matveevich and so was known to Marya Dmitrievna.
Peter Nikolaevich,’ she said. ‘Is that you?’
‘In person,’ said Kamenev.
‘Ah, Butler!
How are things?
Not asleep yet?
Walking out with Marya Dmitrievna, are you?
You look out or you’ll catch it from Ivan Matveevich.
Where is he?’
‘You can hear him,’ said Marya Dmitrievna, pointing to where there was the sound of singing and a bass drum.
‘They’re having a binge.’
‘Your chaps, is it?’
‘No. A column is in from Khasav-Yurt and they’re giving them a party.’
‘Ah, a good thing.
I’ll get to it myself.
I only want to see him for a minute.
‘Is something up?’ asked Butler.
‘Just a small matter.’
‘Good or bad?’
‘Depends who for.
It’s good for us, but tough on others.’ And Kamenev laughed.
The couple walking and Kamenev had meanwhile reached Ivan Matveevich’s house.