The water had washed away the lower beams of the mill-race, and it had been impossible to stop it in a hurry. Zinovey Borisych had collected workmen from the whole district at the mill, and himself remained there permanently. The town business was carried on by the old man, and Katerina Lvovna languished at home quite alone for days on end. At first she was even duller without her husband, but after a time it seemed to her better so; she was freer when alone. Her heart had never been very greatly drawn towards him, and without him at any rate there was one less to order her about.
One day Katerina Lvovna was sitting at the small window of her attic; she yawned thinking of nothing in particular, and at last became ashamed of yawning. The weather was beautiful—warm, light, gay—and through the green wooden palings of the garden one could see the playful birds in the trees fluttering about from branch to branch.
"I wonder why I am yawning so," thought Katerina Lvovna. "Well, I might get up and walk about the yard, or go into the garden."
Katerina Lvovna threw an old cloth jacket over her shoulders and went out.
Out of doors it was light, and you could take deep long breaths, and in the shed near the warehouse such gay laughter was heard.
"Why are you so merry?" said Katerina Lvovna to her father-in-law's clerk.
"Little Mother, Katerina Lvovna, it's because they are weighing a live pig," answered the old clerk.
"What! A pig?"
"It is that pig Aksinia, who gave birth to a son, Vassili, and never invited us to the christening," answered a merry, bold young fellow. He had an impudent good-looking face, framed in curly coal-black locks, and a little beard that was only just beginning to grow.
At that moment the fat red face of the cook Aksinia looked out of the flour vat which was hanging to the beam of the weighing machine.
"You devils, you smooth faced imps!" the cook swore, trying to catch hold of the iron beam and get out of the swaying vat.
"She weighs eight pouds before dinner, but when she has eaten a pile of hay there wont be enough weights!" the good-looking young fellow continued, to explain, and turning the vat over he threw the cook out on some sacks that were heaped up in a corner.
The woman abusing them laughingly began to tidy herself.
"Well, and how much would I weigh?" said Katerina Lvovna jokingly, and taking hold of the rope got on to the weighing machine.
"Three pouds and seven pounds," answered the same good-looking Sergei, throwing the weights on to the machine. "Wonderful."
"What are you wondering at?"
"That you weigh three pouds, Katerina Lvovna. One would have to carry you all day long in one's arms, I reckon, before getting exhausted—it would only be a pleasure."
"What, am I not like other people, eh? If you carried me, never fear, you would get just as tired," answered Katerina Lvovna, blushing slightly. She was unused to such words, and she suddenly felt a desire to chatter and say all sorts of gay, jolly things.
"Certainly not! Good Lord! I would carry you to Arabia the Blessed," answered Sergei to her remark.
"Young man, you don't argue correctly," said the peasant who was filling the sacks. "What is of weight in us? Is it our body that weighs? Our body, my good fellow, counts for nothing on the scales: it's our strength, our strength, that weighs—not our body!"
"Yes, when I was a girl, I was terribly strong," said Katerina Lvovna, who was unable to restrain herself. "Not every man could get the better of me."
"Well, then, if that is so, give me your little hand," said the handsome young fellow.
Katerina Lvovna became confused, but held out her hand.
"Oh, let go of my ring, it hurts!" cried Katerina Lvovna, when Sergei squeezed her hand in his; and with her free hand she gave him a blow on the chest.
The young fellow released the mistress's hand and her blow made him stagger two paces backwards.
"So that's how you can judge a woman," said the surprised peasant.
"No, allow me to try to wrestle with you?" said Sergei, throwing back his curls.
"Very well, try," answered Katerina Lvovna gaily, and she lifted up her elbows.
Sergei put his arms round the young mistress, and pressed her firm breasts to his red shirt. Katerina Lvovna could only make a slight movement of her shoulders, and Sergei lifted her from the floor, held her up in the air, pressed her to himself, and then gently set her down on the overturned vat.
Katerina Lvovna had no time even to attempt to make use of her boasted strength. She looked very red as she sat on the measure and arranged the jacket on her shoulders, and then quietly went out of the warehouse; while Sergei coughed vigorously and shouted:
"Now then, you blockheads! Don't stand and gape. Fill the sacks and give level measure; strict measure is our gain." Just as if he were paying no heed to what had just occurred.
"He's always after the girls, that damned Serezhka," said the cook Aksinia, as she waddled after Katerina Lvovna. "The rascal is attractive in every way—fine body, fine face, good looks. He will coax and flatter any woman you like—and then lead her to sin. He is a fickle scoundrel too—as fickle as you make 'em!"
"And you, Aksinia, what about you?" said the young mistress walking in front. "Is your boy still alive?"
"He's alive, little mother, he's alive. Why shouldn't he be? They always live where they're not wanted."
"Whose is he?"
"Eh, who's to know? One lives in a crowd—one walks about with many."
"Has that young fellow been long with us?"
"Which young fellow? Do you mean Sergei?"
"Yes."
"About a month. He served before at Konchonov's. The master kicked him out." Aksinia lowered her voice and continued: "They say he had a love affair with the mistress there. The cursed young scamp! See how bold he is!"
III
A warm milky twilight hung over the town. Zinovey Borisych had not yet returned from the work at the dam. The father-in-law Boris Timofeich was not at home either; he had gone to the celebration of an old friend's name-day, and had said he would not be home for supper. Katerina Lvovna, having nothing to do, had retired early to her room, and opening the little window of her attic, sat leaning against the window-post, cracking sunflower seeds. The servants had finished their supper in the kitchen and had gone to bed, some in the barn, some in the warehouse, and others in the high sweet-scented hay loft. Sergei was the last to leave the kitchen. He walked about the yard, unchained the watch-dogs, and passed whistling under Katerina Lvovna's window. He looked up at her and bowed low.
"How do you do?" Katerina Lvovna said to him quietly from her attic, and the yard became silent as if it were a desert.
"Madam!"
