"What does it matter to me?" said Jakoff. "It's your business, I am not your judge."
But he thought to himself—"I should like to see her mending his trousers!"
"I am forty-five; that's not old yet ... She costs me very little; why the devil should she?... she is not my wife!..." continued Vassili.
"Of course not!" admitted Jakoff.
But he thought—"I bet she makes his money slip through her fingers!"
Malva had returned with a bottle of vodka and a string of little rolls; they sat down to dinner. They ate without talking, sucking the fish-bones noisily, and spitting them on to the sand near the door. Jakoff devoured his portion, and this seemed to please Malva. She watched with a tender expression his great sunburnt jaws chewing, his cheeks distending, and his thick, moist lips moving. Vassili was not hungry; he attempted to appear absorbed in his meal, so as to be able to observe at his ease Jakoff and Malva, and to think over the way in which he should behave towards them.
The joyful and caressing music of the waves was accompanied by the ferocious and victorious cries of the seagulls. The heat seemed to be growing less, and from time to time a breath of fresh air impregnated with the pure smell of the sea, seemed to reach the hut.
After having eaten the excellent fish-soup, and drunk several glasses of vodka, Jakoff became sleepy. He began by smiling stupidly, and yawning, looking at Malva all the time in such a way that Vassili thought it better to say to him—
"Lie down here, Jakoff, till tea-time ... then we will call you."
"All right," said Jakoff, throwing himself down on some rugs. "And you two ... where are you going?... He! he!"