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"What about your master?" he asked Lavrushka, Denisov's orderly,

whom all the regiment knew for a rogue.

"Hasn't been in since the evening. Must have been losing,"

answered Lavrushka. "I know by now, if he wins he comes back

early to brag about it, but if he stays out till morning it means

he's lost and will come back in a rage. Will you have coffee?"

"Yes, bring some."

Ten minutes later Lavrushka brought the coffee. "He's coming!"

said he. "Now for trouble!" Rostov looked out of the window and

saw Denisov coming home. Denisov was a small man with a red face,

sparkling black eyes, and black tousled mustache and hair. He

wore an unfastened cloak, wide breeches hanging down in creases,

and a crumpled shako on the back of his head. He came up to the

porch gloomily, hanging his head.

"Lavwuska!" he shouted loudly and angrily, "take it off,

blockhead!"

"Well, I am taking it off," replied Lavrushka's voice.

"Ah, you're up already," said Denisov, entering the room.