Vanyúsha, who meanwhile had finished his housekeeping arrangements and
had even been shaved by the company’s barber and had pulled his
trousers out of his high boots as a sign that the company was stationed
in comfortable quarters, was in excellent spirits. He looked
attentively but not benevolently at Eróshka, as at a wild beast he had
never seen before, shook his head at the floor which the old man had
dirtied and, having taken two bottles from under a bench, went to the
landlady.
“Good evening, kind people,” he said, having made up his mind to be
very gentle. “My master has sent me to get some _chikhir_. Will you
draw some for me, good folk?”
The old woman gave no answer. The girl, who was arranging the kerchief
on her head before a little Tartar mirror, looked round at Vanyúsha in
silence.
“I’ll pay money for it, honoured people,” said Vanyúsha, jingling the
coppers in his pocket. “Be kind to us and we, too will be kind to you,”
he added.
“How much?” asked the old woman abruptly. “A quart.”
“Go, my own, draw some for them,” said Granny Ulítka to her daughter.
“Take it from the cask that’s begun, my precious.”
The girl took the keys and a decanter and went out of the hut with
Vanyúsha.
“Tell me, who is that young woman?” asked Olénin, pointing to Maryánka,
who was passing the window. The old man winked and nudged the young man
with his elbow.
“Wait a bit,” said he and reached out of the window. “Khm,” he coughed,
and bellowed, “Maryánka dear. Hallo, Maryánka, my girlie, won’t you
love me, darling? I’m a wag,” he added in a whisper to Olénin. The
girl, not turning her head and swinging her arms regularly and
vigorously, passed the window with the peculiarly smart and bold gait
of a Cossack woman and only turned her dark shaded eyes slowly towards
the old man.
“Love me and you’ll be happy,” shouted Eróshka, winking, and he looked
questioningly at the cadet.
“I’m a fine fellow, I’m a wag!” he added. “She’s a regular queen, that
girl. Eh?”
“She is lovely,” said Olénin. “Call her here!”
“No, no,” said the old man. “For that one a match is being arranged
with Lukáshka, Luke, a fine Cossack, a brave, who killed an _abrek_ the
other day. I’ll find you a better one. I’ll find you one that will be
all dressed up in silk and silver. Once I’ve said it I’ll do it. I’ll
get you a regular beauty!”
“You, an old man—and say such things,” replied Olénin. “Why, it’s a
sin!”
“A sin? Where’s the sin?” said the old man emphatically. “A sin to look
at a nice girl? A sin to have some fun with her? Or is it a sin to love
her? Is that so in your parts? ... No, my dear fellow, it’s not a sin,
it’s salvation! God made you and God made the girl too. He made it all;
so it is no sin to look at a nice girl. That’s what she was made for;
to be loved and to give joy. That’s how I judge it, my good fellow.”
Having crossed the yard and entered a cool dark storeroom filled with
barrels, Maryánka went up to one of them and repeating the usual prayer
plunged a dipper into it. Vanyúsha standing in the doorway smiled as he
looked at her. He thought it very funny that she had only a smock on,
close-fitting behind and tucked up in front, and still funnier that she
wore a necklace of silver coins. He thought this quite un-Russian and
that they would all laugh in the serfs’ quarters at home if they saw a
girl like that. “_La fille comme c’est tres bien_, for a change,” he
thought. “I’ll tell that to my master.”
“What are you standing in the light for, you devil!” the girl suddenly
shouted. “Why don’t you pass me the decanter!”
Having filled the decanter with cool red wine, Maryánka handed it to
Vanyúsha.
“Give the money to Mother,” she said, pushing away the hand in which he
held the money.
Vanyúsha laughed.
“Why are you so cross, little dear?” he said good-naturedly,
irresolutely shuffling with his feet while the girl was covering the
barrel.
She began to laugh.
“And you! Are you kind?”
“We, my master and I, are very kind,” Vanyúsha answered decidedly. “We
are so kind that wherever we have stayed our hosts were always very
grateful. It’s because he’s generous.”
The girl stood listening.
“And is your master married?” she asked.
“No. The master is young and unmarried, because noble gentlemen can
never marry young,” said Vanyúsha didactically.
“A likely thing! See what a fed-up buffalo he is—and too young to
marry! Is he the chief of you all?” she asked.
“My master is a cadet; that means he’s not yet an officer, but he’s
more important than a general—he’s an important man! Because not only
our colonel, but the Tsar himself, knows him,” proudly explained
Vanyúsha. “We are not like those other beggars in the line regiment,
and our papa himself was a Senator. He had more than a thousand serfs,
all his own, and they send us a thousand rubles at a time. That’s why
everyone likes us. Another may be a captain but have no money. What’s
the use of that?”
“Go away. I’ll lock up,” said the girl, interrupting him.
Vanyúsha brought Olénin the wine and announced that “_La fille c’est
tres joulie_,” and, laughing stupidly, at once went out.