Embarrassed by his son’s smile, Vassili left the cabin hastily, Malva frowned and replied to Iakov: 

“What’s that to you?  Learn to mind your own business, my lad.”

Then she went out.

Iakov turned over and went to sleep.

Vassili had fixed three stakes in the sand, and with a piece of matting had rigged up a shelter from the sun.  Then he lay down flat on his back and contemplated the sky.  When Malva came up and dropped on the sand by his side he turned towards her with vexation plainly written on his face.

“Well, old man,” she said laughing, “you don’t seem pleased to see your son.”

“He mocks me.  And why?  Because of you,” replied Vassili testily.

“Oh, I am sorry.  What can we do?  I mustn’t come here again, eh?  All right.  I’ll not come again.”

“Siren that you are!  Ah, you women!  He mocks me and you too—­and yet you are what I have dearest to me.”

He moved away from her and was silent.  Squatting on the sand, with her legs drawn up to her chin, Malva balanced herself gently to and fro, idly gazing with her green eyes over the dazzling joyous sea, and she smiled with triumph as all women do when they understand the power of their beauty.

“Why don’t you speak?” asked Vassili.

“I’m thinking,” said Malva.  Then after a pause she added: 

“Your son’s a fine fellow.”

“What’s that to you?” cried Vassili, jealously.

“Who knows?”

He glanced at her suspiciously.  “Take care,” he said, menacingly.  “Don’t play the imbecile.  I’m a patient man, but I mustn’t be crossed.”

He ground his teeth and clenched his fists.

“Don’t frighten me, Vassili,” she said indifferently, without looking up at him.

“Well, stop your joking.”

“Don’t try to frighten me.”

“I’ll soon make you dance if you begin any foolishness.”

“Would you beat me?”

She went up to him and gazed with curiosity at his frowning face.

“One would think you were a countess.  Yes, I would beat you.”

“Yet I’m not your wife,” said Malva, calmly.  “You have been accustomed to beat your wife for nothing, and you imagine that you can do the same with me.  No, I am free.  I belong only to myself, and I am afraid of no one.  But you are afraid of your son, and now you dare threaten me.”

She shook her head with disdain.  Her careless manner cooled Vassili’s anger.  He had never seen her look so beautiful.

“I have something else to tell you,” she went on.  “You boasted to Serejka that I could no more get along without you than without bread, and that I cannot live without you.  You are mistaken.  Perhaps it is not you that I love and not for you that I come.  Perhaps I love the peace of this deserted beach. (Here she made a wide gesture with her arms.) Perhaps I love these lonely