Old Nichifor at once began to put dust on the fire to smother it.
“From now on, Mistress Malca, you can sleep without anxiety till the day dawns. There! I’ve put out the fire and forgotten to light my pipe. But I’ve got the tinder box. The devil take you nightingales: I know too well you make love to each other!”
Old Nichifor sat thinking deeply until he had finished his pipe, then he rose softly and went up to the carriage on the tips of his toes.
Malca had begun to snore a little. Old Nichifor shook her gently and said:
“Mistress Malca! Mistress Malca!”
“I hear, Mosh Nichifor,” replied Malca, trembling and frightened.
“Do you know what I’ve been thinking as I sat by the fire?”
“What, Mosh Nichifor?”
“After you have gone to sleep, I will mount one of the mares, hurry home, fetch an axle-pin and axe, and by daybreak I shall be back here again.”
“Woe is me! Mosh Nichifor, what are you saying? Do you want to find me dead from fright when you come back?”