“She takes Ivan, and they are to be married in a week. Both get what they want and have waited long for. Now we shall see what we shall see,” said Anna Evauovna grimly.
Ten days later, as Anna Evauovna walked through the village, she stopped at the door of the isba belonging to Ivan’s parents. There in the doorway sat Grusha, the bride, peeling potatoes for the evening meal, as unmoved and uninterested as if she had been peeling potatoes in Ivan’s doorway for years. She had gone from one isba to another: She had peeled her father’s potatoes, and now peeled Ivan’s—that was all.
“Good luck to you, Grusha,” said Anna Evauovna. “But I suppose you think you have luck by the forelock, as Ivan was faithful to you in all that time.”
“Yes,” answered Grusha indifferently, splashing a potato in the bowl of water.
“You have all you waited for—if I may say so and bring no ill-luck.”
“I have everything,” Grusha replied without enthusiasm.
Anna Evauovna looked at the girl’s stolid face, and laughed aloud.
“But you have lost one thing that you can not get back, Grusha. You can never again wonder if Ivan is going to be faithful. An unsatisfied wish is a fine thing to have, my child.”
She walked off still laughing, leaving Grusha puzzled and vexed. At the corner the old woman met the bridegroom and gave him greeting also.