The bulging sides of the samovar glow radiantly in the sun. Its bent chimney sends out a curl of blue smoke, which smells sharply, pungently, and not altogether disagreeably, of juniper and tar.
In answer to the old mistress’s greeting Stepanida raises her broad, cheerfully-preoccupied face, with its small, dark brown eyes, and says in prolonged caressing tones, sing-song fashion:
“Good morning to you, matushka barinya.[3] It’s a fine morning, to be sure. How warm it is, by the grace of God! And you’re up early, matushka barinya!”
Her words are indeed honeyed, and above in the sweet air an early, shaggy bee hovers, with a thick buzzing, tremulously golden in the clear, fluid haze of the early, gentle sun. Silent again, Stepanida is once more busy with the samovar; the disenchanted bee flies away, its buzzing growing less and less audible behind the fence.
The pungent smell of tar causes Elena Kirillovna to frown. She says:
“What makes the thing smell so strongly? You had better leave it for a while, or you will get giddy.”
Stepanida, without moving, answers languidly and indifferently:
“It’s nothing, barinya. We are used to it. It’s but a slight smell, and it is the juniper.”
Through the blue, curling smoke of juniper her sweet voice seems dull and bitter. There is a tickling at Elena Kirillovna’s throat. There is a slight giddiness in her head. Elena Kirillovna makes haste to go. She descends the staircase, and proceeds upon her customary morning stroll.
[3] Literally: “Little mother—gentlewoman.”