Zavilovski laughs; she seems to him natural, and, besides, the picture of Pani Osnovski herding geese amuses him.
Her violet eyes begin to laugh also; and she falls into the tone of a free and joyous maiden, who talks of everything which runs through her head.
“And you would like that?” inquires she of Zavilovski.
“Passionately.”
“Ah, you see! What else? I should like to be a fisherman. The morning dawn must be reflected beautifully in the water. Then the damp nets before the cottage, with films of water between the meshes of the net. If not a fisherman, I should like to be at least a heron, and meditate in the water on one leg, or a lapwing in the fields. But no! the lapwing is a sad kind of bird, as if in mourning.”
Here she turned to Panna Castelli,—
“Lineta, what wouldst thou like to be in the country?”
Panna Lineta raised her lids, and answered after a while,—
“A spider-web.”
The imagination of Zavilovski as a poet was touched by this answer. Suddenly a great yellow sweep of stubble stood before his eyes, with silver threads floating in the calm blue and in the sun.