"There are more waiting outside," Jędrzej, one of the peasants, said, coming forward quickly.
"Have you any business to settle with me?"
"We didn't come here just for a talk," someone said, shutting the door.
"Then sit down; I shall have finished supper in a minute."
"To your good health! We will wait a while...."
The miller began to sip up his porridge hastily. The peasants meanwhile settled themselves on the benches round the stove, warming their backs and carefully watching Jędrzej, who had sat down by the table and was leaning his elbows on it in deep reflection.
"Beastly weather this!" the miller accosted them.
"Real March weather."
"It's always like this before the spring."
Here the conversation broke off again, and the only thing to be heard in the silence of the room was the miller's spoon scraping along the earthenware bowl. But outside someone was stamping the mud off his boots, while at times the howling gusts of wind struck the walls till they creaked, and the rain beat against the steamed window-panes.