Nothing in the story told by his son affected him particularly, but he felt irritated with his wife, and with Jakoff. What a lot of money he had sent them during these five years! And they had not managed to get along with it If Malva had not been there he would have spoken out straight to his son. Jakoff had managed very well to leave the village without his father's permission; but with regard to his piece of land it wasn't used up yet And this land, about which Vassili, during his easy, pleasant life had scarcely thought, now returned suddenly to his mind; it appeared to him as a gulf, into which he had been throwing his money, as something useless and embarrassing. He sighed, as with the spoon he stirred the soup. In the sunlight, the little yellow flame of the fire showed pale and miserable! Threads of blue transparent smoke stretched from the hearth towards the sea, as if going to meet the waves. Vassili followed them with his glance, and thought of his son, of Malva; he was thinking to himself that from this day forth his life would be less pleasant, less free. Surely Jakoff had already guessed what Malva was to him. She remained in the hut, exciting the lad with her bold, provoking eyes. "Perhaps you have left your sweetheart behind you in the village," she said suddenly. "Perhaps I have!" he replied unwillingly. And in his heart he was abusing Malva. "Is she pretty?" she asked indifferently. Jakoff did not reply. "Why don't you answer?... Is she prettier than I am?" He looked at her almost against his will. Her cheeks were flushed and sunburnt, her lips full and tempting, and now that a mischievous smile lurked about them, they seemed to tremble. She wore a becoming little blouse of pink cotton, showing the outline of her rounded shoulders, her full and supple bosom. But he did not like her green, cunning, mocking eyes. "Why do you talk like that?" He sighed involuntarily, and spoke in a pleading voice; he would have liked, if he could have done so, to have spoken to her in a severe tone. "How must I speak to you?" she asked, laughing. "And now you are laughing ... what about?" "I'm laughing at you...." "What have I done?" he asked crossly. And again he dropped his eyes before her glance. She did not reply. Jakoff had a very shrewd idea of what her relations with his father were, and that prevented him from speaking openly. He was not in the least astonished; he had heard it said, that when people worked far away from the village they lost their habits of respectability; and besides it would have been difficult for a strong man like his father to do without a woman for such a long time. But nevertheless he felt awkward both on her account, and on that of his father. And then he remembered once more his mother, harassed and complaining, who was working over there without rest or help. "The soup is ready!" Vassili announced, standing at the door of the hut. "Give us the spoons, Malva."