e word she wanted, and she
could not suppress a quiet groan. A sad stillness pervaded the hut.
Pyotr leaned his head upon one shoulder; his little beard, narrow and
sharp, stuck out comically on one side, and gave his shadow swinging on
the wall the appearance of a man sticking out his tongue teasingly.
Stepan sat with his elbows on the table, and beat a tattoo on the
boards. His wife stood at the oven without stirring; the mother felt
her look riveted upon herself and often glanced at the woman's
face--oval, swarthy, with a straight nose, and a chin cut off short;
her dark and thick eyebrows joined sternly, her eyelids drooped, and
from under them her greenish eyes shone sharply and intently.

"A friend, that is to say," said Pyotr quietly. "He has character,
indeed he has; he esteems himself highly, as he ought to; he has put a
high price on himself, as he ought to. There's a man, Tatyana! You
say----"

"Is he married?" Tatyana interposed, and compressed the thin lips of
her small mouth.

"He's a widower," answered the mother sadly.

"That's why he's so brave," remarked Tatyana. Her utterance was low
and difficult. "A married man like him wouldn't go--he'd be afraid."

"And I? I'm married and everything, and yet--" exclaimed Pyotr.

"Enough!" she said without looking at him and twisting her lips. "Well,
what are you? You only talk a whole lot, and on rare occasions you
read a book. It doesn't do people much good for you and Stepan to
whisper to each other on the corners."

"Why, sister, many people hear me," quietly retorted the peasant,
offended. "I act as a sort of yeast here. It isn't fair in you to
speak that way."

Stepan looked at his wife silently and again drooped his head.

"And why should a peasant marry?" asked Tatyana. "He needs a worker,
they say. What work?"

"You haven't enough? You want more?" Stepan interjected dully.

"But what sense is there in the work we do? We go half-hungry from day
to day anyhow. Children are born; there's no time to look after them
on account of the work that doesn't give us bread." She walked up to
the mother, sat down next to her, and spoke on stubbornly, no plaint
nor mourning in her voice. "I had two children; one, when he was two
years old, was boiled to death in hot water; the other was born
dead--from this thrice-accursed work. Such a happy life! I say a
peasant has no business to marry. He only binds his hands. If he were
free he woul