understood only the word "lamp"; the rest of the phrase was lost in a weary and prolonged yawn.
"What did you say?" asked Werner, yawning also.
"The reflector . . . the lamp of the reflector is smoking," said Sergey.
Werner turned around. It was true; the glass shades were already black.
"Yes, it is smoking!"
Suddenly he thought: "What matters it to me whether the lamp is smoking, when . . .?" Sergey undoubtedly had the same idea. He threw a quick glance at Werner, and turned away his head. But both stopped yawning.
All walked to the train without difficulty; Yanson alone had to be led. At first he stiffened his legs, and glued the soles of his feet to the platform; then he bent his knees. The entire weight of his body fell upon the arms of the policemen; his legs dragged like those of a drunken man; and the toes of his boots ground against the wooden platform. With a thousand difficulties, but in silence, they lifted him into the railway-carriage.
Vasily Kashirin himself walked unsupported; unconsciously he imitated the movements of his comrades. After mounting the steps of the carriage, he drew back; a policeman took him by the elbow to sustain him. Then Vasily began to tremble violently and uttered a piercing cry, pushing away the policeman!
"Aie!"
"Vasily, what is the matter with you?" asked Werner rushing toward him.
