Vassili interpreted her words in a sense agreeable to him.

“How?” he asked.

“You’ll see,” replied Malva calmly, very calmly, but her lips trembled.

“Ah, my darling!” cried Vassili, clasping her close in his arms.  “Do you know that since I have beaten you I love you better.”  Her head fell back on his shoulders and he placed his lips on her trembling mouth.

The sea gulls whirled about over their heads uttering hoarse cries.  From the distance came the regular and gentle splash of the tiny waves breaking on the sand.

When, at last, they broke from their long embrace, Malva sat up on Vassili’s knee.  The peasant’s face, tanned by wind and sun, was bent close to hers and his great blond beard tickled her neck.  The young woman was motionless; only the gradual and regular rise and fall of her bosom showed her to be alive.  Vassili’s eyes wandered in turn from the sea to this woman by his side.  He told Malva how tired he was of living alone and how painful were his sleepless nights filled with gloomy thoughts.  Then he kissed her again on the mouth with the same sound that he might have made in chewing a hot piece of meat.

They stayed there three hours in this way, and finally, when he saw the sun setting, Vassili said with a bored look: 

“I must go and make some tea.  Our guest will soon he awake.”

Malva rose with the indolent gesture of a languorous cat, and with a gesture of regret he started towards the cabin.  Through her half-open lids the young woman watched him as he moved away, and sighed as people sigh when they have borne too heavy a burden.

* * * * *

Fifteen days later it was again Sunday and again Vassili Legostev, stretched out on the sand near his hut, was gazing out to sea, waiting for Malva.  And the deserted sea laughed, playing with the reflections of the sun, and legions of waves were born to run on the sand, deposit the foam of their crests and return to the sea, where they melted.

All was as before.  Only Vassili, who the last time awaited her coming with peaceful security, was now filled with impatience.  Last Sunday she had not come; to-day she would surely come.  He did not doubt it for a moment, but he wanted to see her as soon as possible.  Iakov, at least, would not be there to embarrass them.  The day before yesterday, as he passed with the other fishermen, he said he would go to town on Sunday to buy a blouse.  He had found work at fifteen roubles a month.

Except for the gulls, the sea was still deserted.  The familiar little black spot did not appear,

“Ah, you’re not coming!” said Vassili, with ill humor.  “All right, don’t.  I don’t want you.”

And he spat with disdain in the direction of the water.

The sea laughed.

“If, at least, Serejka would come,” he thought.  And he tried to think only of Serejka.  “What a good-for-nothing the fellow is!  Robust, able to read, seen the world—­but what a drunkard!  Yet good company.  One can’t feel dull in his company.  The women are mad for him; all run after him.  Malva’s the only one that keeps aloof.  No, no sign of her!  What a cursed woman!  Perhaps she’s angry because I beat her.”