He sat on the bench, strong and clean and jovial; talking and laughing all the time. We were silent. Somehow or other he seemed repulsive to us this time.
"How lucky I am with women, Eh? It is very funny! Just a wink and I have them!"
His white hands, covered with glossy hair, were lifted and thrown back to his knees with a loud noise. And he stared at us with such a pleasantly surprised look, as though he really could not understand why he was so lucky in his affairs with women. His stout, red face was radiant with happiness and self-satisfaction, and he kept on licking his lips with relish.
Our baker scraped the shovel firmly and angrily against the hearth of the oven and suddenly said, sarcastically:
"You need no great strength to fell little fir-trees, but try to throw down a pine." . . .
"That is, do you refer to me?" asked the soldier.
"To you. . . ."
"What is it?"
"Nothing. . . . Too late!"
"No, wait! What's the matter? Which pine?"