Two saucy-looking girls in white hats stood on the platform at the end of the train and watched the two bare-footed men with astonishment. Sanine laughed at them, and executed a wild impromptu dance.
Before them lay a meadow where walking barefoot in the long lush grass was an agreeable relief.
“How delightful!” cried Ivanoff.
“Life’s worth living to-day,” rejoined his companion. Ivanoff glanced at Sanine; he thought those words must surely remind him of Sarudine and the recent tragedy. Yet seemingly it was far from Sanine’s thoughts, which surprised Ivanoff somewhat, yet did not displease him.
After crossing the meadow, they again got on to the main road which was thronged as before with peasants in their carts, and giggling girls. Then they came to trees, and reeds, and glittering water, while above them, at no great distance on the hill-side, stood the monastery, topped by a cross that shone like some golden star.
Painted rowing-boats lined the shore, where peasants in bright-coloured shirts and vests lounged. After much haggling and good-humoured banter, Sanine hired one of the little boats. Ivanoff was a deft and powerful oarsman, and the boat shot forward across the water like a living thing. Sometimes the oars touched reeds or low-hanging branches which for a long while after such contact trembled above the deep, dark stream. Sanine steered with so much erratic energy that the water foamed and gurgled round the rudder. They reached a narrow backwater where it was shady and cool. So transparent was the stream that one could see the bottom covered with yellow pebbles, where shoals of little pink fish darted backwards and forwards.
“Here’s a good place to land,” said Ivanoff, and his voice sounded cheery beneath the dark branches of the overhanging trees. As the boat with a grating sound touched the bank, he sprang lightly ashore. Sanine, laughing, did likewise.
“You won’t find a better,” he cried, plunging knee-deep through the long grasses.
“Anywhere’s good in the sun, I say,” replied Ivanoff, as from the boat he fetched the vodka, the bread, the cucumbers, and a little packet of hors d’œuvres. All these he placed on a mossy slope in the shade of the trees, and here he lay down at full length.
“Lucullus dines with Lucullus,” he said.