“What should I do?” she said.

There was a ring of anguish, or vexation, in her voice.

“What you ought to do!” cried Vassili, seized suddenly with a fierce rage.

He felt a passionate desire to strike her, to knock her down and bury her in the sand, to kick her in the face, in the breast.  He clenched his fists and looked back.

Yonder, near the barrels, he saw Iakov and Serejka.  Their faces were turned in his direction.

“Get away with you!  I could crush you!”

He stopped and hissed insults in her face.  His eyes were bloodshot, his beard trembled and his hands seemed to advance involuntarily towards Malva’s hair, which emerged from beneath her shawl.

She fixed her green eyes on him.

“You deserve killing,” he said.  “Wait, some one will break your head yet.”

She smiled, still silent.  Then she sighed deeply and said: 

“That’s enough! now farewell!”

And suddenly turning on her heels she left him and came back.

Vassili shouted after her and shook his fists.  Malva, as she walked, took pains to place each foot in the deep impressions of Vassili’s feet, and when she succeeded she carefully effaced the traces.  Thus she continued on until she came to the barrels where Serejka greeted her with this question: 

“Well, have you seen the last of him?”

She gave an affirmative sign, and sat down beside him.  Iakov looked at her and smiled, gently moving his lips as if he were saying things that he alone heard.

“When will you go to the headland?” she asked Serejka, indicating the sea with a movement of her head.

“This evening.”

“I will go with you.”

“Bravo, that suits me.”

“And I, too—­I’ll go,” cried Iakov.

“Who invited you?” asked Serejka, screwing up his eyes.

The sound of a cracked bell called the men to work.

“She will invite me,” said Iakov.

He looked defiantly at Malva.

“I? what need have I of you?” she replied, surprised.

“Let us he frank, Iakov,” said Serejka.  “If you annoy her, I’ll beat you to a jelly.  And if you as much as touch her with a finger, I’ll kill you like a fly.  I am a simple man.”

His face, all his person, his knotty and muscular arms proved eloquently that killing a man would be a very simple thing for him.

Iakov recoiled a step and said, in a choking voice: 

“Wait!  That is for Malva to—­”

“Keep quiet, that’s all.  You are not the dog that will eat the lamb.  If you get the bones you may be thankful.”

Iakov looked at Malva.  Her green eyes laughed in a humiliating way at him and she fondled Serejka so that Iakov felt himself grow hot and cold.

Then they went away side by side and both burst out laughing.  Iakov dug his foot deep in the sand and remained glued to the spot, his body stretched forward, his face red, his heart beating wildly.