"The squadron quartermaster!" said Lavrushka.
Denisov's face puckered still more.
"Wetched!" he muttered, throwing down a purse with some gold in it. "Wostov, deah fellow, just see how much there is left and shove the purse undah the pillow," he said, and went out to the quartermaster.
Rostov took the money and, mechanically arranging the old and new coins in separate piles, began counting them.
"Ah! Telyanin! How d'ye do? They plucked me last night," came Denisov's voice from the next room.