Entering into conversation with the youth, Katavasov learned that
he was a wealthy Moscow merchant who had run through a large
fortune before he was two-and-twenty. Katavasov did not like
him, because he was unmanly and effeminate and sickly. He was
obviously convinced, especially now after drinking, that he was
performing a heroic action, and he bragged of it in the most
unpleasant way.

The second, the retired officer, made an unpleasant impression
too upon Katavasov. He was, it seemed, a man who had tried
everything. He had been on a railway, had been a land-steward,
and had started factories, and he talked, quite without
necessity, of all he had done, and used learned expressions quite
inappropriately.

The third, the artilleryman, on the contrary, struck Katavasov
very favorably. He was a quiet, modest fellow, unmistakably
impressed by the knowledge of the officer and the heroic
self-sacrifice of the merchant and saying nothing about himself.
When Katavasov asked him what had impelled him to go to Servia,
he answered modestly: "Oh, well, everyone's going. The Servians want help, too. I'm
sorry for them."

"Yes, you artillerymen especially are scarce there," said
Katavasov.

"Oh, I wasn't long in the artillery, maybe they'll put me into
the infantry or the cavalry."

"Into the infantry when they need artillery more than anything?"
said Katavasov, fancying from the artilleryman's apparent age
that he must have reached a fairly high grade.