Olénin followed her with his eyes as long as she was in the hut, and then looked at the door and waited, understanding nothing of what Granny Ulítka was telling him.
A few minutes later some visitors arrived: an old man, Granny Ulítka’s brother, with Daddy Eróshka, and following them came Maryánka and Ústenka.
“Good evening,” squeaked Ústenka. “Still on holiday?” she added, turning to Olénin.
“Yes, still on holiday,” he replied, and felt, he did not know why, ashamed and ill at ease.
He wished to go away but could not. It also seemed to him impossible to remain silent. The old man helped him by asking for a drink, and they had a drink. Olénin drank with Eróshka, with the other Cossack, and again with Eróshka, and the more he drank the heavier was his heart. But the two old men grew merry. The girls climbed onto the oven, where they sat whispering and looking at the men, who drank till it was late. Olénin did not talk, but drank more than the others. The Cossacks were shouting. The old woman would not let them have any more chikhir, and at last turned them out. The girls laughed at Daddy Eróshka, and it was past ten when they all went out into the porch. The old men invited themselves to finish their merry-making at Olénin’s. Ústenka ran off home and Eróshka led the old Cossack to Vanyúsha. The old woman went out to tidy up the shed. Maryánka remained alone in the hut. Olénin felt fresh and joyous, as if he had only just woke up. He noticed everything, and having let the old men pass ahead he turned back to the hut where Maryánka was preparing for bed. He went up to her and wished to say something, but his voice broke. She moved away from him, sat down cross-legged on her bed in the corner, and looked at him silently with wild and frightened eyes. She was evidently afraid of him. Olénin felt this. He felt sorry and ashamed of himself, and at the same time proud and pleased that he aroused even that feeling in her.
“Maryánka!” he said. “Will you never take pity on me? I can’t tell you how I love you.”
She moved still farther away.
“Just hear how the wine is speaking! ... You’ll get nothing from me!”
“No, it is not the wine. Don’t marry Lukáshka. I will marry you.” (“What am I saying,” he thought as he uttered these words. “Shall I be able to say the same tomorrow?” “Yes, I shall, I am sure I shall, and I will repeat them now,” replied an inner voice.)
“Will you marry me?”