"What?" she asked, alarmed.
"Or by the holy Virgin, it'll be so much the worse for you! I know——" he stopped, and then he added: "In fact, I know what I know. Remember, therefore, it is much better to have Vranic for your friend than for your foe."
"Mind, you think me a dove."
"I only know that women have long hair and little brains. Try and not be like most of them."
"Mind, I might for once have more brains than you; therefore, I entreat you, nay, I command you, not to try and see me to-morrow."
"As for that, I'll use my own discretion."
Saying these words, he went off, and left Milena alone. As soon as he had disappeared, she went in, and sank down on the hearth; there, leaning her elbows on her knees, she hid her face between her palms; then she began nursing her grief.
"They say I am happy," she muttered to herself, "because I am rich —though I have not a penny that I can call my own—because I can eat white bread every day. Yet would it not be better by far to be an animal and graze in the fields, than eat bread moistened with my own tears? Oh! why was I not born a man? Then, at least, I might have gone where I liked—done what I pleased.
"They think I am happy, because no one knows what my life has been; though, it is true, what is a woman's life amongst us?
"She toils in the field the whole of the live-long day, whilst her husband smokes his pipe. She is laden like a beast of burden; she is yoked to the plough with an ox or an ass, and when they go to pasture she trudges home with the harness, to nurse the children or attend to household work. Meanwhile, her master leisurely chats with his friends at the inns, or listens to the guzlar.