"There is no sin now!" she retorted, turning her back to the steps and propping up her right leg as she vigorously beat the sheepskin coat. Ignat playfully threatened her--then smiled and said to Ivanov: "A fine girl, isn't she?... She is not yet sixteen and is already a flirt! Its no use talking to her. She won't remain in the house at night, but must go slipping off somewhere." Aganka turned round sharply, tossing her head. "Well, I am not a dead creature!" "You are not, my girl; indeed you are not--only hold your tongue!" Ivanov glanced at her. She was like a little wild fawn with her fresh young body and sparkling eyes, always so ready to bewitch. His own weary eyes involuntarily saddened for a moment; then he said cheerily, in a louder tone than necessary: "Well, isn't that the right attitude? Isn't it the best way? Love while you can, Aganka, have a happy time." "Oh, yes, let her have a happy time by all means ... it is young blood's privilege." replied Ignat. The bells again rang out for the Gospel. The sky grew darker and darker. Ravens croaked hoarsely amidst the verdant foliage of the trees. Ignat put his ear to the ground, listening. From the distance, from the garden, the ravines, and the pasturage came the low cries of cranes, barely audible amid the subdued rustling of the spring. Ignat thrust forward his bearded face, it looked at first serious and attentive, then it grew cunning and became animated with joy. "The cranes have come down!" he cried in an excited whisper, as though afraid of frightening them. Then he began to bustle about, muttering: "I must grease the double-barrel...." Ivanov also bestirred himself. Because while tracking the cranes he would be seeing her, Arina's image now came vividly before him-- broad, strong, ardent, with soft sensual lips, and wearing a red handkerchief. "Get the drosky out at dawn to-morrow," he ordered Ignat. "We will go to the Ratchinsky wood. I will go there now and have a look round." II The panelled walls and the stove with its cracked tiles were only faintly visible in the soft twilight which filled Ivanov's study. By the walls stood a sofa, and a desk whose green cloth was untidily bestrewn with the accumulated litter of years and copiously spotted with candle grease, reminiscent of the long, dreary nights Ivanov had spent--a prey to loneliness. A heap of horse trappings--collars, straps, saddles, bridles--lay by the large, square, bare windows. During the winter nights wolves watched the gleam of yellow candlelight within them. Now outside was the tranquil, genial atmosphere of Spring with all its multi-coloured splendour. Against a deep-blue sky with an orange streak like a pencil line drawn across the horizon, showed the sharp, knotted twigs of the crotegus and the lilac beneath the windows. Ivanov lighted a candle and commenced manufacturing cartridges to pass away the time. Lydia Constantinovna entered the room.