The beginning of our acquaintance promised no good. That particular
Pole was poor but proud--a poor fellow with many wants. Then he was
a smoker, too. I also enjoyed a smoke when I had an extra copper in
my pocket. But Zagrubsky had a passion for smoking, and when he had
no tobacco of his own, he demanded it of others. That was his way:
he could not beg; he could only demand. Three of us shared one
tent: Zagrubsky, Serge, and myself. Serge was a soldier in
comfortable circumstances. He had taken some money with him from
home, and received a monthly allowance from his parents. He always
had excellent tobacco. Once, when he happened to open his tobacco
pouch to roll a cigarette, Zagrubsky took notice of it, and put
forth his hand to take some tobacco. That was his way: whenever he
saw a tobacco pouch open, he would try to help himself to some of
its contents. But Serge was one of those peasants whose ambition
extends beyond their class. He was painfully proud, prouder than
any of the nobles. Before entering the service he had made up his
mind to "rise.
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