were out in the street, which was everywhere sprinkled with pumpkin and melon seed-shells. The air was warm and still, the sky deep and clear. Beyond the roofs the dead-white mountain range, which seemed very near, was turning rosy in the glow of the evening sun. Now and then from the other side of the river came the distant roar of a cannon, but above the village, mingling with one another, floated all sorts of merry holiday sounds. Olénin had been pacing the yard all that morning hoping to see Maryánka. But she, having put on holiday clothes, went to Mass at the chapel and afterwards sat with the other girls on an earth-embankment cracking seeds; sometimes again, together with her companions, she ran home, and each time gave the lodger a bright and kindly look. Olénin felt afraid to address her playfully or in the presence of others. He wished to finish telling her what he had begun to say the night before, and to get her to give him a definite answer. He waited for another moment like that of yesterday evening, but the moment did not come, and he felt that he could not remain any longer in this uncertainty. She went out into the street again, and after waiting awhile he too went out and without knowing where he was going he followed her. He passed by the corner where she was sitting in her shining blue satin _beshmet_, and with an aching heart he heard behind him the girls laughing. Belétski’s hut looked out onto the square. As Olénin was passing it he heard Belétski’s voice calling to him, “Come in,” and in he went. After a short talk they both sat down by the window and were soon joined by Eróshka, who entered dressed in a new _beshmet_ and sat down on the floor beside them. “There, that’s the aristocratic party,” said Belétski, pointing with his cigarette to a brightly coloured group at the corner. “Mine is there too. Do you see her? in red. That’s a new _beshmet_. Why don’t you start the _khorovód?_” he shouted, leaning out of the window. “Wait a bit, and then when it grows dark let us go too. Then we will invite them to Ústenka’s. We must arrange a ball for them!” “And I will come to Ústenka’s,” said Olénin in a decided tone. “Will Maryánka be there?” “Yes, she’ll be there. Do come!” said Belétski, without the least surprise. “But isn’t it a pretty picture?” he added, pointing to the motley crowds. “Yes, very!” Olénin assented, trying to appear indifferent. “Holidays of this kind,” he added, “always make me wonder why all these people should suddenly be contented and jolly. Today for instance, just because it happens to be the fifteenth of the month, everything is festive. Eyes and faces and voices and movements and garments, and the air and the sun, are all in a holiday mood. And we no longer have any holidays!” “Yes,” said Belétski, who did not like such reflections. “And why are you not drinking, old fellow?” he said, turning to Eróshka.