"Ah! life! life!..." (Vassili dreamily caressed the girl, as she lay in his arms.) "This is ever the way of the world: what is forbidden is always pleasant ... Perhaps you don't know; but I sometimes think about life, and then I am frightened. Especially at night, when I can't sleep.... In front of me stretches the sea, above me is the sky, and all around me is terrifying darkness! And I am alone. And then I seem to grow small, so small, and the ground seems to rock under me, and it seems as if there were no one on the earth but myself! If I only had you at those moments ... at least we should be two together." Malva, with closed eyes, was lying across Vassili's knees; and she remained silent The rough open face of the peasant, tanned by the wind and the sun, was bent towards her, and his beard touched lightly her neck. The girl did not move, only her bosom rose and fell. Vassili's eyes wandered over the sea, and from time to time glanced at Malva's bosom which lay there so near him. And he went on telling her how lonely he was, living here alone, and how painful were his sleepless nights, filled with dark thoughts about life. Then he kissed her mouth slowly, and with the sort of noise that he would have made when eating a warm thick soup. They remained there perhaps three hours, and when the sun began to go down into the sea, Vassili said in a tone of annoyance-- "I must go and boil the water for tea ... our guest will soon be awake." Malva walked away with the indolent gesture of a languorous kitten, and Vassili rose regretfully and went towards the hut. Between her half-closed eyelids the girl watched him as he walked away, and she sighed, as those sigh who have bent too long under a heavy burden. An hour went by; the three had met round the fire, and were drinking tea and chatting. The sun was already staining the sea with the deep tones of sunset, and under the magic touch of its rays the green waves had just clothed themselves in purple and tender rose-pink. Vassili, as he drank his tea from a white china cup, questioned his son about the country, and exchanged recollections. Malva, without taking part in the conversation, listened to their slowly-uttered questions and answers. "The peasants are still able then to make a living?" "Yes, they get along somehow," answered Jakoff. "We don't want much, we peasants. A house, enough bread, and on feast-days a glass of vodka.... Yes, but we don't even get that ... Should I have gone away if I could have lived at home? In the village I am my own master, the equal of any one, but here I am a servant." "But on the other hand you are not so often hungry here, and work is less hard." "Don't say that There are days here when ones bones feel as if they were being crushed.... And then here, one is working for others, whilst there one works for oneself."