"You stupid creature! Aren't you ashamed?... What am I to do now? Am I to tell him straight out that ... But I have a wife at home.... His mother.... You might have understood!" "What does it matter to me? Do you think I'm frightened of him? Or of you?" she asked, screwing up contemptuously her green eyes. "And how you carried on when you first saw him!... What fun it was to see you!" "You thought it fun, did you?... But what am I going to do?" "You ought to have thought of that before." "But could I imagine that the sea was going to throw him up here, without giving me a word of warning?" Jakoff's footsteps were heard in the sand, and they were obliged to interrupt their conversation. Jakoff had brought back a bag, which he tossed into a corner, glancing angrily towards the woman. She was still nibbling seeds. Vassili sat on the log of wood, rubbing his knee, and said with a constrained smile-- "Well, here you are!... What made you think of coming here?" "It just came into my head.... We had written to you...." "When? I didn't get any letter." "Is that so?... Well, we wrote to you!" "The letter must have been lost," said Vassili regretfully. "Devil take it!... It's always the important letters that get lost...." "Then you don't know anything about us?" asked Jakoff distrustfully. "How should I know anything? I have not received any letter." Then Jakoff told how their horse had died, how they had eaten all their com before the beginning of February, and how he himself was no longer able to earn a living. There was no more hay left, the cow had been nearly starved to death. They had managed to get along till April, and then they had decided that after the ploughing Jakoff should go and find his father, and should get work somewhere away, during the next three months. This was what they had written. Then they sold three sheep and bought some flour and some hay, after which Jakoff started off. "Well, I never!" exclaimed Vassili. "How is it possible?... I sent you money!" "It was little enough, your money! We had to repair the house; and there was the sister's marriage. I bought a plough.... You see, five years is a long time." "Hm!... So it wasn't enough? What a long story!... And my soup which Is boiling away!" He rose and went out. Stooping down over the fire, above which hung the boiling-pot Vassili reflected whilst he tossed the scum into the flames.