The girl stood listening.
“And is your master married?” she asked.
“No. The master is young and unmarried, because noble gentlemen can never marry young,” said Vanyúsha didactically.
“A likely thing! See what a fed-up buffalo he is—and too young to marry! Is he the chief of you all?” she asked.
“My master is a cadet; that means he’s not yet an officer, but he’s more important than a general—he’s an important man! Because not only our colonel, but the Tsar himself, knows him,” proudly explained Vanyúsha. “We are not like those other beggars in the line regiment, and our papa himself was a Senator. He had more than a thousand serfs, all his own, and they send us a thousand rubles at a time. That’s why everyone likes us. Another may be a captain but have no money. What’s the use of that?”
“Go away. I’ll lock up,” said the girl, interrupting him.
Vanyúsha brought Olénin the wine and announced that “La fille c’est tres joulie,” and, laughing stupidly, at once went out.
Chapter XIII
Meanwhile the tattoo had sounded in the village square. The people had returned from their work. The herd lowed as in clouds of golden dust it crowded at the village gate. The girls and the women hurried through the streets and yards, turning in their cattle. The sun had quite hidden itself behind the distant snowy peaks. One pale bluish shadow spread over land and sky. Above the darkened gardens stars just discernible were kindling, and the sounds were gradually hushed in the village. The cattle having been attended to and left for the night, the women came out and gathered at the corners of the streets and, cracking sunflower seeds with their teeth, settled down on the earthen embankments of the houses. Later on Maryánka, having finished milking the buffalo and the other two cows, also joined one of these groups.
The group consisted of several women and girls and one old Cossack man.