“And when is the wedding to be?” asked Olénin, feeling his blood suddenly rush to his face while his heart beat irregularly and painfully. He heard a movement on the oven and the sound of seeds being cracked. “Well, you know, it ought to be next week. We are quite ready,” replied the old woman, as simply and quietly as though Olénin did not exist. “I have prepared and have procured everything for Maryánka. We will give her away properly. Only there’s one thing not quite right. Our Lukáshka has been running rather wild. He has been too much on the spree! He’s up to tricks! The other day a Cossack came here from his company and said he had been to Nogáy.” “He must mind he does not get caught,” said Olénin. “Yes, that’s what I tell him. ‘Mind, Lukáshka, don’t you get into mischief. Well, of course, a young fellow naturally wants to cut a dash. But there’s a time for everything. Well, you’ve captured or stolen something and killed an _abrek!_ Well, you’re a fine fellow! But now you should live quietly for a bit, or else there’ll be trouble.’” “Yes, I saw him a time or two in the division, he was always merry-making. He has sold another horse,” said Olénin, and glanced towards the oven. A pair of large, dark, and hostile eyes glittered as they gazed severely at him. He became ashamed of what he had said. “What of it? He does no one any harm,” suddenly remarked Maryánka. “He makes merry with his own money,” and lowering her legs she jumped down from the oven and went out banging the door. Olénin followed her with his eyes as long as she was in the hut, and then looked at the door and waited, understanding nothing of what Granny Ulítka was telling him. A few minutes later some visitors arrived: an old man, Granny Ulítka’s brother, with Daddy Eróshka, and following them came Maryánka and Ústenka. “Good evening,” squeaked Ústenka. “Still on holiday?” she added, turning to Olénin. “Yes, still on holiday,” he replied, and felt, he did not know why, ashamed and ill at ease.