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“Why don’t you speak?” asked Vassili.

“I’m thinking,” said Malva. Then after a pause she added:

“Your son’s a fine fellow.”

“What’s that to you?” cried Vassili, jealously.

“Who knows?”

He glanced at her suspiciously. “Take care,” he said, menacingly. “Don’t play the imbecile. I’m a patient man, but I mustn’t be crossed.”

He ground his teeth and clenched his fists.

“Don’t frighten me, Vassili,” she said indifferently, without looking up at him.

“Well, stop your joking.”

“Don’t try to frighten me.”

“I’ll soon make you dance if you begin any foolishness.”

“Would you beat me?”

She went up to him and gazed with curiosity at his frowning face.

“One would think you were a countess. Yes, I would beat you.”

“Yet I’m not your wife,” said Malva, calmly. “You have been accustomed to beat your wife for nothing, and you imagine that you can do the same with me. No, I am free. I belong only to myself, and I am afraid of no one. But you are afraid of your son, and now you dare threaten me.”

She shook her head with disdain. Her careless manner cooled Vassili’s anger. He had never seen her look so beautiful.

“I have something else to tell you,” she went on. “You boasted to Serejka that I could no more get along without you than without bread, and that I cannot live without you. You are mistaken. Perhaps it is not you that I love and not for you that I come. Perhaps I love the peace of this deserted beach. (Here she made a wide gesture with her arms.) Perhaps I love these lonely sands, with their vast stretch of sea and sky, and to be away from vile beings. Because you are here is nothing to me. If this were Serejka’s place I should come here. If your son lived here, I should come too. It would be better still if no one were here, for I am disgusted with you all. But if I take it into my head one day–beautiful as I am–I can always choose a man, and one who’ll please me better than you.”

“So, so!” hissed Vassili, furiously, and he seized her by the throat. “So that’s your game, is it?”

He shook her, and she did not strive to get away from his grasp, although her face was congested and her eyes bloodshot. She merely placed her two hands on the rough hands that were around her throat.

“Ah, now I know you!” Vassili was hoarse with rage. “And yet you said you loved me, and you kissed me and caressed me? Ah, I’ll show you!”

Holding her down to the ground, he struck her repeatedly with his clenched fist. Finally, fatigued with the exertion, he pushed her away from him crying:

“There, serpent. Now you’ve got what you deserved.”

Without a complaint, silent and calm, Malva fell back on her back, all crumpled, red and still beautiful. Her green eyes watched him furtively under the lashes, and burned with a cold flame full of hatred, but he, gasping with excitement and satisfied with the punishment he had inflicted, did not notice the look, and when he stooped down towards her to see if she was crying, she smiled up at him gently.

He looked at her, not understanding and not knowing what to do next. Should he beat her again? But his fury was appeased, and he had no desire to recommence.

“How you love me!” she whispered.

Vassili felt hot all over.

“All right! all right! the devil take you,” he said gloomily. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Was I not foolish, Vassili? I thought you no longer loved me! I said to myself, ‘now his son is here he will neglect me for him.'”

And she burst out laughing, a strange forced laugh.

“Foolish girl!” said Vassili, smiling in spite of himself.

He felt himself at fault, and was sorry for her, but remembering what she had said, he went on crossly:

“My son has nothing to do with it. If I beat you it was your own fault. Why did you cross me?”