n itself.

Varvara came out of the house, and screening her eyes with her hand, as
though from the sun, she looked towards the church.

"It's the priest's sons with the schoolmaster," she said.

Again all the three voices began to sing together. Matvey Savitch sighed
and went on:

"Well, that's how it was, old man. Two years later we got a letter from
Vasya from Warsaw. He wrote that he was being sent home sick. He was
ill. By that time I had put all that foolishness out of my head, and I
had a fine match picked out all ready for me, only I didn't know how to
break it off with my sweetheart. Every day I'd make up my mind to have
it out with Mashenka, but I didn't know how to approach her so as not
to have a woman's screeching about my ears. The letter freed my hands. I
read it through with Mashenka; she turned white as a sheet, while I said
to her: 'Thank God; now,' says I, 'you'll be a married woman again.'
But says she: 'I'm not going to live with him.' 'Why, isn't he your
husband?' said I. 'Is it an easy thing?... I never loved him and I
married him not of my own free will. My mother made me.' 'Don't try to
get out of it, silly,' said I, 'but tell me this: were you married to
him in church or not?' 'I was married,' she said, 'but it's you that I
love, and I will stay with you to the day of my death. Folks may jeer.
I don't care....' 'You're a Christian woman,' said I, 'and have read the
Scriptures; what is written there?'

"Once married, with her husband she must live," said Dyudya.

"'Man and wife are one flesh. We have sinned,' I said, 'you and I, and
it is enough; we must repent and fear God. We must confess it all to
Vasya,' said I; 'he's a quiet fellow and soft--he won't kill you. And
indeed,' said I, 'better to suffer torments in this world at the hands
of your lawful master than to gnash your teeth at the dread Seat of
Judgment.' The wench wouldn't listen; she stuck to her silly, 'It's you
I love!' and nothing more could I get out of her.

"Vasya came back on the Saturday before Trinity, early in the morning.
From my fence I could see everything; he ran into the house, and came
back a minute later with Kuzka in his arms, and he was laughing and
crying all at once; he was kissing Kuzka and looking up at the hay-loft,
and hadn't the heart to put the child down, and yet he was longing to go
to his pigeons. He was always a soft sort of chap--sentimental. That day
passed off very well, all quiet and proper.