“There; at the same place. Immediately after the accident, he came to himself and at once sent for workmen. They’ll lift the barge. They may have started by this time.”
“Is he there alone?” asked Mayakin, lowering his head.
“Not quite,” replied Yefim, softly, glancing stealthily at Lubov.
“Really?”
“There’s a lady with him. A dark one.”
“So.”
“It looks as though the woman is out of her wits,” said Yefim, with a sigh. “She’s forever singing. She sings very well. It’s very captivating.”
“I am not asking you about her!” cried Mayakin, angrily. The wrinkles of his face were painfully quivering, and it seemed to Lubov that her father was about to weep.
“Calm yourself, papa!” she entreated caressingly. “Maybe the loss isn’t so great.”
“Not great?” cried Yakov Tarasovich in a ringing voice. “What do you understand, you fool? Is it only that the barge was smashed? Eh, you! A man is lost! That’s what it is! And he is essential to me! I need him, dull devils that you are!” The old man shook his head angrily and with brisk steps walked off along the garden path leading toward the house.