He stopped once or twice, listening to the ringing laughter of Maryánka
and Ústenka who, having come together, were shouting something. Olénin
spent the whole evening hunting in the forest and returned home at dusk
without having killed anything. When crossing the road he noticed her
open the door of the outhouse, and her blue smock showed through it. He
called to Vanyúsha very loud so as to let her know that he was back,
and then sat down in the porch in his usual place. His hosts now
returned from the vineyard; they came out of the outhouse and into
their hut, but did not ask him in. Maryánka went twice out of the gate.
Once in the twilight it seemed to him that she was looking at him. He
eagerly followed her every movement, but could not make up his mind to
approach her. When she disappeared into the hut he left the porch and
began pacing up and down the yard, but Maryánka did not come out again.
Olénin spent the whole sleepless night out in the yard listening to
every sound in his hosts’ hut. He heard them talking early in the
evening, heard them having their supper and pulling out their cushions,
and going to bed; he heard Maryánka laughing at something, and then
heard everything growing gradually quiet.
The cornet and his wife talked a while in whispers, and someone was
breathing. Olénin re-entered his hut. Vanyúsha lay asleep in his
clothes. Olénin envied him, and again went out to pace the yard, always
expecting something, but no one came, no one moved, and he only heard
the regular breathing of three people. He knew Maryánka’s breathing and
listened to it and to the beating of his own heart. In the village
everything was quiet. The waning moon rose late, and the deep-breathing
cattle in the yard became more visible as they lay down and slowly
rose. Olénin angrily asked himself, “What is it I want?” but could not
tear himself away from the enchantment of the night. Suddenly he
thought he distinctly heard the floor creak and the sound of footsteps
in his hosts’ hut. He rushed to the door, but all was silent again
except for the sound of regular breathing, and in the yard the
buffalo-cow, after a deep sigh, again moved, rose on her foreknees and
then on her feet, swished her tail, and something splashed steadily on
the dry clay ground; then she lay down again in the dim moonlight. He
asked himself: “What am I to do?” and definitely decided to go to bed,
but again he heard a sound, and in his imagination there arose the
image of Maryánka coming out into this moonlit misty night, and again
he rushed to her window and again heard the sound of footsteps. Not
till just before dawn did he go up to her window and push at the
shutter and then run to the door, and this time he really heard
Maryánka’s deep breathing and her footsteps. He took hold of the latch
and knocked. The floor hardly creaked under the bare cautious footsteps
which approached the door. The latch clicked, the door creaked, and he
noticed a faint smell of marjoram and pumpkin, and Maryánka’s whole
figure appeared in the doorway. He saw her only for an instant in the
moonlight. She slammed the door and, muttering something, ran lightly
back again. Olénin began rapping softly but nothing responded. He ran
to the window and listened. Suddenly he was startled by a shrill,
squeaky man’s voice.
“Fine!” exclaimed a rather small young Cossack in a white cap, coming
across the yard close to Olénin. “I saw ... fine!”
Olénin recognized Nazárka, and was silent, not knowing what to do or
say.
“Fine! I’ll go and tell them at the office, and I’ll tell her father!
That’s a fine cornet’s daughter! One’s not enough for her.”
“What do you want of me, what are you after?” uttered Olénin.
“Nothing; only I’ll tell them at the office.”
Nazárka spoke very loud, and evidently did so intentionally, adding:
“Just see what a clever cadet!”
Olénin trembled and grew pale.
“Come here, here!” He seized the Cossack firmly by the arm and drew him
towards his hut.
“Nothing happened, she did not let me in, and I too mean no harm. She
is an honest girl—”
“Eh, discuss—”
“Yes, but all the same I’ll give you something now. Wait a bit!”
Nazárka said nothing. Olénin ran into his hut and brought out ten
rubles, which he gave to the Cossack.
“Nothing happened, but still I was to blame, so I give this!—Only for
God’s sake don’t let anyone know, for nothing happened...”
“I wish you joy,” said Nazárka laughing, and went away.
Nazárka had come to the village that night at Lukáshka’s bidding to
find a place to hide a stolen horse, and now, passing by on his way
home, had heard the sound of footsteps. When he returned next morning
to his company he bragged to his chum, and told him how cleverly he had
got ten rubles. Next morning Olénin met his hosts and they knew nothing
about the events of the night. He did not speak to Maryánka, and she
only laughed a little when she looked at him. Next night he also passed
without sleep, vainly wandering about the yard. The day after he
purposely spent shooting, and in the evening he went to see Belétski to
escape from his own thoughts. He was afraid of himself, and promised
himself not to go to his hosts’ hut any more.
That night he was roused by the sergeant-major. His company was ordered
to start at once on a raid. Olénin was glad this had happened, and
thought he would not again return to the village.
The raid lasted four days. The commander, who was a relative of
Olénin’s, wished to see him and offered to let him remain with the
staff, but this Olénin declined. He found that he could not live away
from the village, and asked to be allowed to return to it. For having
taken part in the raid he received a soldier’s cross, which he had
formerly greatly desired. Now he was quite indifferent about it, and
even more indifferent about his promotion, the order for which had
still not arrived. Accompanied by Vanyúsha he rode back to the cordon
without any accident several hours in advance of the rest of the
company. He spent the whole evening in his porch watching Maryánka, and
he again walked about the yard, without aim or thought, all night.