Who has not ridden a day in the heat without water, and then rested at night in a pleasant place, does not know what enjoyment is. I could not, of course, foresee that that night I was not to close an eye. But that is the way it happened.
The inn was a poor, tumble down, dirty place in which the “room for gentlemen” was painted in such a manner that it looked like a coffin. All the rooms smelled of stale fish and poor brandy. So you can understand the pleasure with which I accepted the invitation of Ugricic to stay all night with him. That very day his brother’s son—who had finished his time of service in the army—returned. It was a large peasant house. The owner was well to do; the family was merry and good natured and they treated me royally. Most of all I enjoyed the good appearance of Ugricic’s brother’s daughter. A fresh colored, handsome peasant, vibrating with life and strength. She walked gracefully and firmly, and she was shapely.
We ate supper out of doors under the nut tree. She waited on us throughout the evening without speaking a word. She ushered me into the house, in the middle of which was the living room, in which there was a large fire place. Opening out of this room were two bed rooms. The one to the right was given to me. It was furnished with a wooden bed strewn with fresh hay, on top of which a sheet was spread and a pillow placed.
Beside the bed was a small table, and under the window a bench. On the wall hung a Turkish scimiter suspended by a strap that was torn and old. Beside the scimiter were two flint-stone pistols. This completed the furnishing.
I cannot accustom myself to the unlovely Serbian custom of having a young girl pull off one’s dirty boots. I did not permit her to do it and called the soldier.
She looked down at my boots and then she looked at me. Should I ask her to take a seat? She had not done so. What should I say to her? I made an attempt at conversation.
“Have you eaten your supper, Stana?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Well—!”