spindle into skeins. But when Volodyovski began to tell of the wars or of wonders which he had seen in the great houses of magnates, work ceased, the girls gazed at him as at a rainbow, and one would cry out in astonishment, "Oh! I do not live in the world! Oh, my dears!" and another would say, "I shall not close an eye the whole night!"
Volodyovski, as he returned to health and began at times to use his sword with perfect freedom, was more joyous and told stories more willingly. A certain evening they were sitting as usual, after supper, in front of the chimney, from beneath which the light fell sharply on the entire dark room. They began to chat; the girls wanted stories, and Volodyovski begged Terka to sing something with the lute.
"Sing something yourself," answered she, pushing away the instrument which Volodyovski was handing her; "I have work. Having been in the world, you must have learned many songs."
"True, I have learned some. Let it be so to-day; I will sing first, and you afterward. Your work will not run away. If a woman had asked, you would not have refused; you are always opposed to men."
"For they deserve it."
"And do you disdain me too?"
"Oh, why should I? But sing something."
Volodyovski touched the lute; he assumed a comic air, and began to sing in falsetto, —
"I have come to such places
Where no girl will have me! —"
"Oh, that is untrue for you," interrupted Maryska, blushing as red as a raspberry.
"That's a soldier's song," said Volodyovski, which we used to sing in winter quarters, wishing some good soul to take pity on us."
"I would be the first to take pity on you."
"Thanks to you. If that is true, then I have no reason to sing longer, and I will give the lute into worthier hands."
Terka did not reject the instrument this time, for she was moved by Volodyovski's song, in which there was more cunning indeed than truth. She struck the strings at once, and with a simpering mien began, —
