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years since I married you, and … and never once was there any love between us! … I … I’m not crying.
    “Love …” Yegor mutters, scratching his arm. “There can’t be any love. It’s just in name that we’re man and wife, but is it really so? For you I’m a wild man, and for me you’re a simple woman, with no understanding. Do we make a couple? I’m free, spoiled, loose, and you’re a barefoot farm worker, you live in dirt, you never straighten your back. I think like this about myself, that I’m first in the line of hunting, but you look at me with pity … What kind of couple are we?”
    “But we were married in church, Yegor Vlasych!” Pelageya sobs.
    “Not freely… Did you forget? You can thank Count Sergei Pavlych … and yourself. The count was envious that I was a bettershot than he was, kept me drunk for a whole month, and a drunk man can not only be married off but can even be seduced into a different faith. In revenge he up and married me to you … A huntsman to a cow girl. You could see I was drunk, why did you marry me? You’re not a serf, you could have told him no! Of course, a cow girl’s lucky to marry a huntsman, but we need to be reasonable. Well, so now you can suffer and cry. It’s a joke for the count, but you cry … beat your head on the wall …”
    Silence ensues. Three wild ducks fly over the clearing. Yegor looks at them and follows them with his eyes until they turn into three barely visible specks and go down far beyond the forest.
    “How do you live?” he asks, shifting his eyes from the ducks to Pelageya.
    “I go out to work now, and in winter I take a baby from the orphanage and nurse him with a bottle. They give me a rouble and a half a month.” So-o …
    Again silence. From the harvested rows comes a soft song, which breaks off at the very beginning. It is too hot for singing …
    “They say you put up a new cottage for Akulina,” says Pelageya.
    Yegor is silent.
    “It means she’s after your own heart …”
    “That’s just your luck, your fate!” says the hunter, stretching. “Bear with it, orphan. But, anyhow, good-bye, we’ve talked too much … I’ve got to make it to Boltovo by evening …”
    Yegor gets up, stretches, shoulders his gun. Pelageya stands up.
    “And when will you come to the village?” she asks softly.
    “No point. I’ll never come sober, and when I’m drunk there’s not much profit for you. I get angry when I’m drunk … Good-bye!”
    “Good-bye, Yegor Vlasych …”
    Yegor puts his cap on the back of his head and, clucking for his dog, continues on his way. Pelageya stays where she is and looks at his back … She sees his moving shoulder blades, his dashing head, his lazy, nonchalant stride, and her eyes fill with sadness and a tender caress … Her gaze moves over the tall, skinny figure of her husband and caresses and fondles it … He seems to feel this gaze, stops, and looks back … He is silent, but Pelageya can see from his face, from his raised shoulders, that he wants to say something to her. She timidly goes up to him and looks at him with imploring eyes.
    “For you!” he says, turning away
    He hands her a worn rouble and quickly walks off.
    “Good-bye, Yegor Vlasych!” she says, mechanically accepting the rouble.
    He walks down the long road straight as a stretched-out belt … She stands pale, motionless as a statue, and catches his every step with her eyes. But now the red color of his shirt merges with the dark color of his trousers, his steps can no longer be seen, the dog is indistinguishable from his boots. Only his visored cap can still be seen, but … suddenly Yegor turns sharply to the right in the clearing and the cap disappears into the greenery.
    “Good-bye, Yegor Vlasych!” Pelageya whispers and stands on tiptoe so as at least to see the white cap one more time.
    J ULY 1885

T HE M ALEFACTOR

    B efore the examining magistrate stands a puny, exceedingly scrawny little peasant in a calico