“Iunderstand，YegorVlassitch。“
“Youdon’tunderstandifyouaregoingtocry。“
“II’mnotcrying，“saidPelagea，turningaway。“It’sasin，YegorVlassitch！Youmightstayadaywithlucklessme，anyway。It’stwelveyearssinceIwasmarriedtoyou，and
andtherehasneveroncebeenlovebetweenus！I。Iamnotcrying。“
“Love“mutteredYegor，scratchinghishand。“Therecan’tbeanylove。It’sonlyinnamewearehusbandandwife；wearen’treally。InyoureyesIamawildman，andinmineyouareasimplepeasantwomanwithnounderstanding。Arewewellmatched？
Iamafree，pampered，profligateman，whileyouareaworkingwoman，goinginbarkshoesandneverstraighteningyourback。ThewayIthinkofmyselfisthatIamtheforemostmanineverykindofsport，andyoulookatmewithpity。Isthatbeingwellmatched？“
“Butwearemarried，youknow，YegorVlassitch，“sobbedPelagea。
“Notmarriedofourfreewill。Haveyouforgotten？YouhavetothankCountSergeyPaylovitchandyourself。Outofenvy，becauseIshotbetterthanhedid，theCountkeptgivingmewineforawholemonth，andwhenaman’sdrunkyoucouldmakehimchangehisreligion，letalonegettingmarried。TopaymeouthemarriedmetoyouwhenIwasdrunk。Ahuntsmantoaherd-girl！YousawIwasdrunk，whydidyoumarryme？Youwerenotaserf，youknow；youcouldhaveresisted。Ofcourseitwasabitofluckforaherd-girltomarryahuntsman，butyououghttohavethoughtaboutit。Well，nowbemiserable，cry。It’sajokefortheCount，butacryingmatterforyou。Beatyourselfagainstthewall。“
Asilencefollowed。Threewildducksflewovertheclearing。
Yegorfollowedthemwithhiseyestill，transformedintothreescarcelyvisibledots，theysankdownfarbeyondtheforest。
“Howdoyoulive？“heasked，movinghiseyesfromtheduckstoPelagea。
“NowIamgoingouttowork，andinthewinterItakeachildfromtheFoundlingHospitalandbringituponthebottle。Theygivemearoubleandahalfamonth。“
“Oh。“
Againasilence。Fromthestripthathadbeenreapedfloatedasoftsongwhichbrokeoffattheverybeginning。Itwastoohottosing。
“TheysayyouhaveputupanewhutforAkulina，“saidPelagea。
Yegordidnotspeak。
“Sosheisdeartoyou。“
“It’syourluck，it’sfate！“saidthehuntsman，stretching。“Youmustputupwithit，poorthing。Butgood-bye，I’vebeenchatteringlongenough。ImustbeatBoltovobytheevening。“
Yegorrose，stretchedhimself，andslunghisgunoverhisshoulder；Pelageagotup。
“Andwhenareyoucomingtothevillage？“sheaskedsoftly。
“Ihavenoreasonto，Ishallnevercomesober，andyouhavelittletogainfrommedrunk；IamspitefulwhenIamdrunk。
Good-bye！“
“Good-bye，YegorVlassitch。“
Yegorputhiscaponthebackofhisheadand，clickingtohisdog，wentonhisway。Pelageastoodstilllookingafterhim……Shesawhismovingshoulder-blades，hisjauntycap，hislazy，carelessstep，andhereyeswerefullofsadnessandtenderaffection。Hergazeflittedoverherhusband’stall，leanfigureandcaressedandfondledit。He，asthoughhefeltthatgaze，stoppedandlookedround。Hedidnotspeak，butfromhisface，fromhisshruggedshoulders，Pelageacouldseethathewantedtosaysomethingtoher。Shewentuptohimtimidlyandlookedathimwithimploringeyes。
“Takeit，“hesaid，turninground。
Hegaveheracrumpledroublenoteandwalkedquicklyaway。
“Good-bye，YegorVlassitch，“shesaid，mechanicallytakingtherouble。
Hewalkedbyalongroad，straightasatautstrap。She，paleandmotionlessasastatue，stood，hereyesseizingeverystephetook。Buttheredofhisshirtmeltedintothedarkcolourofhistrousers，hisstepcouldnotbeseen，andthedogcouldnotbedistinguishedfromtheboots。Nothingcouldbeseenbutthecap，andsuddenlyYegorturnedoffsharplyintotheclearingandthecapvanishedinthegreenness。
“Good-bye，YegorVlassitch，“whisperedPelagea，andshestoodontiptoetoseethewhitecaponcemore。
HAPPINESS
AFLOCKofsheepwasspendingthenightonthebroadstepperoadthatiscalledthegreathighway。Twoshepherdswereguardingit。
One，atoothlessoldmanofeighty，withatremulousface，waslyingonhisstomachattheveryedgeoftheroad，leaninghiselbowsonthedustyleavesofaplantain；theother，ayoungfellowwiththickblackeyebrowsandnomoustache，dressedinthecoarsecanvasofwhichcheapsacksaremade，waslyingonhisback，withhisarmsunderhishead，lookingupwardsatthesky，wherethestarswereslumberingandtheMilkyWaylaystretchedexactlyabovehisface。
Theshepherdswerenotalone。Acoupleofyardsfromthemintheduskthatshroudedtheroadahorsemadeapatchofdarkness，and，besideit，leaningagainstthesaddle，stoodamaninhighbootsandashortfull-skirtedjacketwholookedlikeanoverseeronsomebigestate。Judgingfromhisuprightandmotionlessfigure，fromhismanners，andhisbehaviourtotheshepherdsandtohishorse，hewasaserious，reasonablemanwhoknewhisownvalue；eveninthedarknesssignscouldbedetectedinhimofmilitarycarriageandofthemajesticallycondescendingexpressiongainedbyfrequentintercoursewiththegentryandtheirstewards。
Thesheepwereasleep。Againstthegreybackgroundofthedawn，alreadybeginningtocovertheeasternpartofthesky，thesilhouettesofsheepthatwerenotasleepcouldbeseenhereandthere；theystoodwithdroopingheads，thinking。Theirthoughts，tediousandoppressive，calledforthbyimagesofnothingbutthebroadsteppeandthesky，thedaysandthenights，probablyweigheduponthemthemselves，crushingthemintoapathy；and，standingthereasthoughrootedtotheearth，theynoticedneitherthepresenceofastrangernortheuneasinessofthedogs。
Thedrowsy，stagnantairwasfullofthemonotonousnoiseinseparablefromasummernightonthesteppes；thegrasshopperschirrupedincessantly；thequailscalled，andtheyoungnightingalestrilledlanguidlyhalfamileawayinaravinewhereastreamflowedandwillowsgrew。
Theoverseerhadhaltedtoasktheshepherdsforalightforhispipe。Helighteditinsilenceandsmokedthewholepipe；then，stillwithoututteringaword，stoodwithhiselbowonthesaddle，plungedinthought。Theyoungshepherdtooknonoticeofhim，hestilllaygazingattheskywhiletheoldmanslowlylookedtheoverseerupanddownandthenasked:
“Why，aren’tyouPanteleyfromMakarov’sestate？“
“That’smyself，“answeredtheoverseer。
“Tobesure，Iseeitis。Ididn’tknowyou——thatisasignyouwillberich。WherehasGodbroughtyoufrom？“
“FromtheKovylyevskyfields。“
“That’sagoodway。Areyoulettingthelandonthepart-cropsystem？“
“Partofit。Somelikethat，andsomewearelettingonlease，andsomeforraisingmelonsandcucumbers。Ihavejustcomefromthemill。“
Abigshaggyoldsheep-dogofadirtywhitecolourwithwoollytuftsaboutitsnoseandeyeswalkedthreetimesquietlyroundthehorse，tryingtoseemunconcernedinthepresenceofstrangers，thenallatoncedashedsuddenlyfrombehindattheoverseerwithanangryagedgrowl；theotherdogscouldnotrefrainfromleapinguptoo。
“Liedown，youdamnedbrute，“criedtheoldman，raisinghimselfonhiselbow；“blastyou，youdevil’screature。“
Whenthedogswerequietagain，theoldmanresumedhisformerattitudeandsaidquietly:
“ItwasatKovylionAscensionDaythatYefimZhmenyadied。Don’tspeakofitinthedark，itisasintomentionsuchpeople。Hewasawickedoldman。Idaresayyouhaveheard。“
“No，Ihaven’t“
“YefimZhmenya，theuncleofStyopka，theblacksmith。Thewholedistrictroundknewhim。Aye，hewasacursedoldman，hewas！I
knewhimforsixtyyears，eversinceTsarAlexanderwhobeattheFrenchwasbroughtfromTaganrogtoMoscow。WewenttogethertomeetthedeadTsar，andinthosedaysthegreathighwaydidnotruntoBahmut，butfromEsaulovkatoGorodishtche，andwhereKovyliisnow，therewerebustards’nests——therewasabustard’snestateverystep。EventhenIhadnoticedthatYefimhadgivenhissoultodamnation，andthattheEvilOnewasinhim。Ihaveobservedthatifanymanofthepeasantclassisapttobesilent，takesupwitholdwomen’sjobs，andtriestoliveinsolitude，thereisnogoodinit，andYefimfromhisyouthupwasalwaysonetoholdhistongueandlookatyousideways，healwaysseemedtobesulkyandbristlinglikeacockbeforeahen。
