"The nightingale sings
In the branches above—
The nightingale brings
No rest to his love!"
Ignat gave her an indulgent look; nevertheless he said sternly:
"Come, come! That is sin … it is Lent and you singing!"
Aganka merely laughed.
"There is no sin now!" she retorted, turning her back to the steps and propping up her right leg as she vigorously beat the sheepskin coat.
Ignat playfully threatened her—then smiled and said to Ivanov: "A fine girl, isn't she?… She is not yet sixteen and is already a flirt! Its no use talking to her. She won't remain in the house at night, but must go slipping off somewhere."
Aganka turned round sharply, tossing her head. "Well, I am not a dead creature!"
"You are not, my girl; indeed you are not—only hold your tongue!"
Ivanov glanced at her. She was like a little wild fawn with her fresh young body and sparkling eyes, always so ready to bewitch. His own weary eyes involuntarily saddened for a moment; then he said cheerily, in a louder tone than necessary:
"Well, isn't that the right attitude? Isn't it the best way? Love while you can, Aganka, have a happy time."
"Oh, yes, let her have a happy time by all means … it is young blood's privilege." replied Ignat.