"Oh, you wicked boy! That's for your insects!"
"That was a healthy smack," said Sasha, and he laughed and kissed Liudmilla's hand. "But why are you so angry, dearest Liudmillotchka? What do you think it does smell of?"
He was not at all angry at the blow—he was completely bewitched by Liudmilla.
"What does it smell of?" asked Liudmilla, and caught hold of Sasha by the ear. "I'll tell you what, but first I'm going to pull your ear for you."
"Oi-oi-oi! Liudmillotchka darling, I won't do it again!" exclaimed Sasha, frowning with pain and pulling away from her.
Liudmilla let go of the reddened ear, gently drew Sasha to her, seated him on her knees and said:
"Listen—three scents live in the cyclamen—the poor flower smells of ambrosia—that is for working bees. You know, of course, that in Russian this is called 'sow-bread.'"
"Sow-bread," repeated Sasha laughingly. "That's a funny name."
"Now, don't laugh, you young scamp," said Liudmilla as she caught hold of his other ear, and continued: "Ambrosia, and the bees humming over it, that's the flower's joy. The flower also smells of vanilla. Now this is not for the bees, but for him of whom they dream, and this is the flower's desire—the flower and the golden sun above it. The flower's third perfume smells of the sweet tender body for the lover, and this is its love—the poor flower and the heavy midday sultriness. The bee, the sun and the sultriness—do you understand, my dear?"
Sasha silently shook his head. His smooth face flamed and his long dark eyelashes trembled slightly. Liudmilla looked dreamily into the distance and said: