Soon after he had entered the hut he came out again and sat down with his pipe and a book on the side of the porch which was not yet exposed to the rays of the sun. He meant not to go anywhere before dinner that day, and to write some long-postponed letters; but somehow he felt disinclined to leave his place in the porch, and he was as reluctant to go back into the hut as if it had been a prison. The housewife had heated her oven, and the girl, having driven the cattle, had come back and was collecting _kisyak_ and heaping it up along the fence. Olénin went on reading, but did not understand a word of what was written in the book that lay open before him. He kept lifting his eyes from it and looking at the powerful young woman who was moving about. Whether she stepped into the moist morning shadow thrown by the house, or went out into the middle of the yard lit up by the joyous young light, so that the whole of her stately figure in its bright coloured garment gleamed in the sunshine and cast a black shadow—he always feared to lose any one of her movements. It delighted him to see how freely and gracefully her figure bent: into what folds her only garment, a pink smock, draped itself on her bosom and along her shapely legs; how she drew herself up and her tight-drawn smock showed the outline of her heaving bosom, how the soles of her narrow feet in her worn red slippers rested on the ground without altering their shape; how her strong arms with the sleeves rolled up, exerting the muscles, used the spade almost as if in anger, and how her deep dark eyes sometimes glanced at him. Though the delicate brows frowned, yet her eyes expressed pleasure and a knowledge of her own beauty. “I say, Olénin, have you been up long?” said Belétski as he entered the yard dressed in the coat of a Caucasian officer. “Ah, Belétski,” replied Olénin, holding out his hand. “How is it you are out so early?” “I had to. I was driven out; we are having a ball tonight. Maryánka, of course you’ll come to Ústenka’s?” he added, turning to the girl. Olénin felt surprised that Belétski could address this woman so easily. But Maryánka, as though she had not heard him, bent her head, and throwing the spade across her shoulder went with her firm masculine tread towards the outhouse. “She’s shy, the wench is shy,” Belétski called after her. “Shy of you,” he added as, smiling gaily, he ran up the steps of the porch. “How is it you are having a ball and have been driven out?” “It’s at Ústenka’s, at my landlady’s, that the ball is, and you two are invited. A ball consists of a pie and a gathering of girls.” “What should we do there?” Belétski smiled knowingly and winked, jerking his head in the direction of the outhouse into which Maryánka had disappeared. Olénin shrugged his shoulders and blushed. “Well, really you are a strange fellow!” said he. “Come now, don’t pretend”