He sat in the corner on a lounge, which was covered with oilcloth--and waited.

On the table before him were a few bottles of vodka and beer, and plates with bread and dessert.

He covered the windows and did not light the lamp; the faint light from the bonfire, penetrating through the curtains, fell on the table, on the bottles and on the wall, and trembled, now growing brighter, now fainter.

It was quiet on the steamer and on the barges, only from the shore came indistinct sounds of conversation, and the river was splashing, scarcely audible, against the sides of the steamer.

It seemed to Foma that somebody was hiding in the dark near by, listening to him and spying upon him.