We fired the stove and prepared our modest dinner.

Ivan drank from the bottle inherited from the soldiers and in a short time was very eloquent, with brilliant eyes and with hands that coursed frequently and rapidly through his long locks.
He began relating to me the story of one of his adventures, but suddenly stopped and, with fear in his eyes, squinted into a dark corner.
"Is it a rat ?" he asked.
"I did not see anything," I replied.
He again became silent and reflected with knitted brow.

Often we were silent through long hours and consequently I was not astonished.

Ivan leaned over near to me and began to whisper.
"I want to tell you an old story.

I had a friend in Transbaikalia.