Chapter XXXIXIt was already late in the night when Olénin came out of Belétski’s hut following Maryánka and Ústenka. He saw in the dark street before him the gleam of the girl’s white kerchief. The golden moon was descending towards the steppe. A silvery mist hung over the village. All was still; there were no lights anywhere and one heard only the receding footsteps of the young women. Olénin’s heart beat fast. The fresh moist atmosphere cooled his burning face. He glanced at the sky and turned to look at the hut he had just come out of: the candle was already out. Then he again peered through the darkness at the girls’ retreating shadows. The white kerchief disappeared in the mist. He was afraid to remain alone, he was so happy. He jumped down from the porch and ran after the girls.“Bother you, someone may see...” said Ústenka.“Never mind!”Olénin ran up to Maryánka and embraced her.Maryánka did not resist.“Haven’t you kissed enough yet?” said Ústenka. “Marry and then kiss, but now you’d better wait.”“Good-night, Maryánka. Tomorrow I will come to see your father and tell him. Don’t you say anything.”“Why should I!” answered Maryánka.Both the girls started running. Olénin went on by himself thinking over all that had happened. He had spent the whole evening alone with her in a corner by the oven. Ústenka had not left the hut for a single moment, but had romped about with the other girls and with Belétski all the time. Olénin had talked in whispers to Maryánka.“Will you marry me?” he had asked.“You’d deceive me and not have me,” she replied cheerfully and calmly.“But do you love me? Tell me for God’s sake!”“Why shouldn’t I love you? You don’t squint,” answered Maryánka, laughing and with her hard hands squeezing his....“What whi-ite, whi-i-ite, soft hands you’ve got—so like clotted cream,” she said.“I am in earnest. Tell me, will you marry me?”“Why not, if father gives me to you?”“Well then remember, I shall go mad if you deceive me. Tomorrow I will tell your mother and father. I shall come and propose.”Maryánka suddenly burst out laughing.“What’s the matter?”“It seems so funny!”“It’s true! I will buy a vineyard and a house and will enroll myself as a Cossack.”“Mind you don’t go after other women then. I am severe about that.”Olénin joyfully repeated all these words to himself. The memory of them now gave him pain and now such joy that it took away his breath. The pain was because she had remained as calm as usual while talking to him. She did not seem at all agitated by these new conditions. It was as if she did not trust him and did not think of the future. It seemed to him that she only loved him for the present moment, and that in her mind there was no future with him. He was happy because her words sounded to him true, and she had consented to be his. “Yes,” thought he to himself, “we shall only understand one another when she is quite mine. For such love there are no words. It needs life—the whole of life. Tomorrow everything will be cleared up. I cannot live like this any longer; tomorrow I will tell everything to her father, to Belétski, and to the whole village.”Lukáshka, after two sleepless nights, had drunk so much at the fête that for the first time in his life his feet would not carry him, and he slept in Yámka’s house.
It was already late in the night when Olénin came out of Belétski’s hut following Maryánka and Ústenka. He saw in the dark street before him the gleam of the girl’s white kerchief. The golden moon was descending towards the steppe. A silvery mist hung over the village. All was still; there were no lights anywhere and one heard only the receding footsteps of the young women. Olénin’s heart beat fast. The fresh moist atmosphere cooled his burning face. He glanced at the sky and turned to look at the hut he had just come out of: the candle was already out. Then he again peered through the darkness at the girls’ retreating shadows. The white kerchief disappeared in the mist. He was afraid to remain alone, he was so happy. He jumped down from the porch and ran after the girls.
“Bother you, someone may see...” said Ústenka.
“Never mind!”
Olénin ran up to Maryánka and embraced her.
Maryánka did not resist.
“Haven’t you kissed enough yet?” said Ústenka. “Marry and then kiss, but now you’d better wait.”
“Good-night, Maryánka. Tomorrow I will come to see your father and tell him. Don’t you say anything.”
“Why should I!” answered Maryánka.
Both the girls started running. Olénin went on by himself thinking over all that had happened. He had spent the whole evening alone with her in a corner by the oven. Ústenka had not left the hut for a single moment, but had romped about with the other girls and with Belétski all the time. Olénin had talked in whispers to Maryánka.
“Will you marry me?” he had asked.
“You’d deceive me and not have me,” she replied cheerfully and calmly.
“But do you love me? Tell me for God’s sake!”
“Why shouldn’t I love you? You don’t squint,” answered Maryánka, laughing and with her hard hands squeezing his....
“What whi-ite, whi-i-ite, soft hands you’ve got—so like clotted cream,” she said.
“I am in earnest. Tell me, will you marry me?”
“Why not, if father gives me to you?”
“Well then remember, I shall go mad if you deceive me. Tomorrow I will tell your mother and father. I shall come and propose.”
Maryánka suddenly burst out laughing.
“What’s the matter?”
“It seems so funny!”
“It’s true! I will buy a vineyard and a house and will enroll myself as a Cossack.”
“Mind you don’t go after other women then. I am severe about that.”
Olénin joyfully repeated all these words to himself. The memory of them now gave him pain and now such joy that it took away his breath. The pain was because she had remained as calm as usual while talking to him. She did not seem at all agitated by these new conditions. It was as if she did not trust him and did not think of the future. It seemed to him that she only loved him for the present moment, and that in her mind there was no future with him. He was happy because her words sounded to him true, and she had consented to be his. “Yes,” thought he to himself, “we shall only understand one another when she is quite mine. For such love there are no words. It needs life—the whole of life. Tomorrow everything will be cleared up. I cannot live like this any longer; tomorrow I will tell everything to her father, to Belétski, and to the whole village.”
Lukáshka, after two sleepless nights, had drunk so much at the fête that for the first time in his life his feet would not carry him, and he slept in Yámka’s house.