Just then Yagna was going through the passage. Hanka called her in to take a drink. She complied, but, without even glancing at anyone, went out and into her own rooms.
The Voyt awaited her return, but in vain, and was visibly disappointed.
He had little more to say to the others; and when she came out again and went into the courtyard, his eyes wandered stealthily after her.
The talk began to flag. The two older ones sat glowering and glaring at each other, while Ploshkova whispered something in Hanka’s ear. Ambrose alone was faithful to the bottle, and though no one took any notice of him, talked on and told of things incredible.
The Voyt shortly took his leave, making as if to go home; but he whipped round through the orchard into the yard, where Yagna was sitting on the byre-step, giving a mottled calf her finger to suck.
He peered cautiously round, and putting some caramels into her bosom:
“Take these, Yagna,” he said; “and come to the private bar this evening; you shall have something still better.”
And without awaiting her reply he hurried back to the cabin.
“Aha!” he cried; “ye have there a goodly bull-calf, I see: ’twill fetch a high price.”
“No, we keep it for breeding: it comes of good Manor stock.”
“And a splendid profit ye’ll have of it: the miller’s bull is good for nothing now. How pleased Antek will be to see the money flow in!”
“Ah me! when will he see that? when?”
“In no long time. It is I who tell you so: trust me.”
“We all are waiting wearily from day to day!”
“And any day they may be back—all of them; and I know something of these matters, I fancy.”
“But the fields will not wait: that is the worst of it.”
“And ah! when I look forward to autumn. …”
A cart rattled by. Yuzka peeped out and announced that it was the priest, along with Roch, bound for somewhere.
“To purchase wine for the Mass,” Ambrose explained.
“And why,” Yagustynka asked with a sneer, “has he rather chosen Roch to try it with him than Dominikova?”
The latter had no time to retort: just then, in came the smith, and the Voyt raised his glass.
“Michael, you are late; come and make up for lost time!”
“I shall soon catch you up: here they come to take you from us!”
Even as he spoke, the Soltys rushed in breathless.
“Away, Peter; the scrivener and the gendarmes need you.”
“Mother of a dog! what, not an instant of rest? … Well, duty first!”
“Get rid of them quick and rejoin us.”
“Can it be done? There’s the Podlesie fire business, and they come, too, about the hole dug here.”
He went out with the Soltys. Then Hanka, fixing her eyes on the smith:
“They will come,” she said, “to take informations. Tell them all, Michael.”
He scratched his moustache, and eyed the child with much apparent attention.
“What can I say? Just as much as Yuzka could.”
“I shall not send the girl to an official: ’twould be unseemly. But say to them, you, that, so far as we can tell, naught has been stolen from the storeroom. Whether this be so or not, no one knows but God … and. …”—She broke off, stroking the featherbed with a nervous cough, disguising the mockery she felt visible on her face. He replied only with a shrug, and went out.
“Oh, the dishonest knave!” she said to herself, smiling softly.
“Because the christening was a poor one, they have broken it up quite,” Ambrose grumbled, taking up his cap to go.
“Yuzka, cut a piece of sausage: he can celebrate the christening at home.”
“Am I a man to eat dry sausage?”
“Then moisten your inwards with vodka now, and stop grumbling.”
“They were wise who said: ‘Count the grains of barley put in the pot, but look not at your fingers when they work, nor count the glasses drunk at any festival’!”
They continued talking and drinking for a time, till the Soltys came round to all the cabins, ordering the people to meet the scrivener and gendarmes at the Voyt’s.
This put Ploshkova in a passion. Setting her arms akimbo, she began to storm.
“Not one jot do I care for the Voyt’s commands! Is it any business of ours? Have we invited them to come? Have we time for gendarme-parties, say? We do not come to heel to the first that whistles: no dogs are we! If they want to know aught, let them come and inquire. … ’Tis the only thing to do. … No, we do not go!” And with that she ran out into the road, shouting to a group of terrified women who had come together by the millpond:
“To your work, neighbours; to the fields! whoso has to do with any goodwife should know where to seek her!—Let us not wait upon them, as if we were going to give all up at their command, and sit like dogs at their doors! The rascals!”—So she screamed, being mightily ruffled in spirit.
Now as she was, after Borynova, the foremost goodwife in Lipka, the women obeyed her, and dispersed in all directions like frightened hens; and as the most part had already been in the fields since dawn, the village now seemed empty, except for the little ones playing about the pond, and the old people basking in the sun.
Of course the scrivener was furious, and loaded the Soltys with a profusion of insults; but he had to go to the fields all the same. There he plodded to and fro for a long time, asking each whether they knew anything about the fire
