“He was right. One rouble will give him a lifelong profit ... and a first-rate breed of cows.—Know ye if the Klembas are to pay Agata’s funeral fees?” “No, she herself has left ten _zloty_ for her burial.” “She shall be buried, as grandly as any village dame!—Ah! by the way, tell the Confraternity Brethren that I will sell them my unbleached wax; the bleached wax they may want they must buy elsewhere. To-morrow Michael will see to the church; you must go round and tell the reapers to hurry. The weather-glass stands at ‘Variable,’ and we may have a storm.—When are they starting for Chenstohova?” “They have asked for a votive Mass on Thursday.” This talk getting on Yanek’s nerves, he walked farther away to a low lattice-work fence that separated the orchard from the apiary, where he paced to and fro along a narrow path overhung by trees, the apple-laden boughs coming in frequent contact with his head. It was a stifling evening, redolent of honey close by, and of the rye cut down a little farther; the sultry air was saturated with heat. The whitewashed trunks glimmered in the shadows, like shirts hung out to dry. From the Klembas’, the dismal moaning of the dirges was heard. Weary of thinking over his trouble, Yanek was going home, when his ear caught the muffled sound of persons whispering eagerly together in the apiary. He could see no one, but stopped and listened, holding his breath. ... “Get along.... Let me alone, or I shall scream.” “... foolish ... why struggle?... I am doing nothing wrong ... nothing wrong.” ... “Someone may hear.... Loose me, for God’s sake.... You’re breaking my ribs!” Yanek knew the voices: Pete from Boryna’s and Maryna the priest’s maidservant were there! He walked away, somewhat amused at their courtship, but, after a few paces, returned and listened with absorbing interest. It was impossible to see anything for the thick bushes and the dark night, but he was soon able to make out their broken words, that were now more distinct, more ardent, like spurts of flame; at times, too, there was the sound of a tussle and of deep-drawn breaths. “... as nice as any of Yagna’s ... you shall see, Maryna ... only....” “Trust you indeed?... Am I such a one?... For God’s sake, let me breathe!” There was a heavy fall upon the ground; the bushes cracked and snapped; then they seemed to pick themselves up, and whispers and chuckles and kisses went on as before. “Sleep has quite fled from me now ... all for thinking of you, Maryna ... of you, O dearest!” “To every girl you say that!... I waited till midnight ... courting someone else....” Yanek trembled like an aspen leaf.—The wind sprung up, making the trees to rustle faintly, as if talking in their sleep; the heavy scent of honey from the apiary oppressed him so, he could scarcely breathe; his eyes watered, a hot thrill went through him, an obscurely pleasurable sensation pervaded his whole being.