. ."

And he regretted that he was a hospital assistant, and not a simple
peasant, that he wore a reefer coat and a chain with a gilt key on
it instead of a blue shirt with a cord tied round the waist. Then
he could boldly have sung, danced, flung both arms round Lyubka as
Merik did. . . .

The sharp tapping, shouts, and whoops set the crockery ringing in
the cupboard and the flame of the candle dancing.

The thread broke and the beads were scattered all over the floor,
the green kerchief slipped off, and Lyubka was transformed into a
red cloud flitting by and flashing black eyes, and it seemed as
though in another second Merik's arms and legs would drop off.

But finally Merik stamped for the last time, and stood still as
though turned to stone. Exhausted and almost breathless, Lyubka
sank on to his bosom and leaned against him as against a post, and
he put his arms round her, and looking into her eyes, said tenderly
and caressingly, as though in jest:

"I'll find out where your old mother's money is hidden, I'll murder
her and cut your little throat for you, and after that I will set
fire to the inn. . . . People will think you have perished in the
fire, and with your money I shall go to Kuban. I'll keep droves of
horses and flocks of sheep. . . ."

Lyubka made no answer, but only looked at him with a guilty air,
and asked:

"And is it nice in Kuban, Merik?"

He said nothing, but went to the chest, sat down, and sank into
thought; most likely he was dreaming of Kuban.

"It's time for me to be going," said Kalashnikov, getting up. "Filya
must be waiting for me. Goodbye, Lyuba."

Yergunov went out into the yard to see that Kalashnikov did not go
off with his horse. The snowstorm still persisted. White clouds
were floating about the yard, their long tails clinging to the rough
grass and the bushes, while on the other side of the fence in the
open country huge giants in white robes with wide sleeves were
whirling round and falling to the ground, and getting up again to
wave their arms and fight. And the wind, the wind! The bare birches
and cherry-trees, unable to endure its rude caresses, bowed low
down to the ground and wailed: "God, for what sin hast Thou bound
us to the earth and will not let us go free?"

"Wo!" said Kalashnikov sternly, and he got on his horse; one half
of the gate was opened, and by it lay a high snowdrift. "Well, get
on!" shouted Kalashnikov. His little short-legged nag set off, and