Hanka was extremely depressed and taciturn; and it was only when, supper over, Pete had gone to the stable, that Roch made bold to ask if she had seen her husband.
“All the afternoon. He is in good health and spirits, and asked me to send you a greeting. … I saw the other lads also.—They are to be set free, but none will tell when. Also I saw the lawyer who is to defend Antek. …”
She was, however, keeping back something that lay like a stone at her heart, and went on talking of other and indifferent matters: till suddenly she broke down, bursting into tears, and covering her face, while the drops came pouring through her fingers.
“I shall come tomorrow morning,” he said. “Ye need rest. You have been much shaken, and it might do you harm.”
“Oh!” she burst out; “if I could but die and have done with this agony!”
He bent his head and withdrew, saying nothing.
Hanka went at once to lie down by her children; but, tired though she was, she could not sleep. Ah! Antek had treated her as though she had been some importunate dog. He had eaten the Hallow-fare with a good appetite, taken a few roubles without asking whence she had got them, and not so much as said he was sorry the journey had tired her!
She had told him all her doings at the farm: he had listened with not a word of praise, but more than one of sharp censure. Then he had asked about all the village—and forgotten his own little ones! She had come out to him with what a faithful loving heart, with what intense yearning for his caresses! Was she not his own wife, the mother of his children? And yet he had not fondled her, nor kissed her, nor even inquired after her health. He had behaved like a stranger, and looked on her as one. At last, when she could speak no longer for the pain that strangled her, and her tears flowed forth, he had shouted: “Have you come all this way to whine and blubber at me?”—O God! the anguish of that moment! … And that was her reward for all the hard work she had done for him, all that toil so far beyond her strength, all her bitterness of woe!—Nothing; not one word of endearment, of comfort even!
“O Christ! look down on me in Thy mercy, for I can bear no more!” she moaned, her face pressed hard down upon the pillow, not to wake the children, as she lay there, weeping, sorrowing, full of deep humiliation and the sense of cruel wrong.
Neither in his presence, nor before anyone else afterwards, had she been able to pour forth her soul: only now did she at last give vent to the despair of her heart, and to those tears, more bitter than any bitterness on earth.
The next morning—Easter Monday—the weather was still more beautiful, the countryside more abundantly bathed in dew, in azure mist-wreaths, in sunshine and in joy. The birds’ songs were more sonorous; the warm gales, rushing through the trees, made them murmur, as it were, a quiet prayer. The folk rose earlier, too, that day, opening doors and windows wide, and going outside to gaze upon God’s world—on the verdurous orchards; on the vast landscape, garlanded with spring greenery, sparkling all over with diamonds, bathed in the light of the sun; on the autumn-ploughed fields, with young tawny blades waving in the wind, and rippling up to the cabins like sheets of water teased by the zephyrs.
The boys ran about with squirts, drenching each other to the cry of Smigus!—or else, hiding behind the trees round the pond, they would deluge with water, not only the passersby, but anyone who peeped out of doors; so that many a cabin-wall dripped with wet, and puddles glistened all around them.
Along all the ways and about the enclosures, the lads ran, chasing their victims with uproarious laughter, and dead set against the lasses, who enjoyed the pastime as much as they did, emptying pails on their heads and dodging them through the orchards; and as there were plenty of grown-up girls among them, these soon got the upper hand, driving the boys back with indomitable energy. Even Yasyek Topsy-turvy, who had attacked Nastka with a fire-hose, was himself tackled by the Balcerek girls, drenched from head to foot, and then flung into the pond to crown their victory.
But he, being nettled, and loath to brook such shame, that girls should get the better of a man, called to his aid Pete, Boryna’s servant: who with him laid an ambush cunningly for Nastka, got her fast in their clutches, dragged her to the well, and flooded her until she screamed aloud. … Then, taking Vitek to help them, and young Gulbas, with some bigger lads, they pounced upon Mary, daughter of Balcerek, whom they deluged so, that, stick in hand, her mother was obliged to run and rescue her! Yagna too they caught and drenched thoroughly, nor did they spare even Yuzka, though she begged them hard, and ran in tears to Hanka to complain.
“Complain she may!” they cried; “but yet she likes it: see, her eyes sparkle with glee!”
“Pestilent fellows! they have wetted me all over!” Yagustynka growled, though pleased, and entered the cabin.
“Whom will those rascals spare!” Yuzka grumbled, as she changed to dry clothes. Yet she could not for all that forbear coming out into the porch to witness the scene: all the roads alive with noise and tumult, and the whole place thrilling with the hubbub. The lads, frantic with delight, ran about in large bands, driving all who came nigh within range of the great hose, till at last the Soltys, seeing that no one could leave his hut for them, had to put an end to this merrymaking, and disperse them.
“Are ye no worse for yesterday’s drive?” Yagustynka queried, as she dried herself
