ither mending their clothing, or killing fleas, or
lethargically munching bread collected at the windows of the Cossacks'
huts. I find the sight of them weary me as much as does the young
fellows fatuous babble. Also, I find that whenever the elder of the two
women lifts her eyes from her work, and half smiles, the faint
half-smile in question vexes me intensely. Consequently, I end by
departing in Konev's wake.

Guarding the entrance of the churchyard, four poplar trees stand erect,
save when, as the wind harries them, they bow alternately to the arid,
dusty earth and towards the dim vista of tow-coloured steppe and
snowcapped mountain peaks. Yet, oh how that steppe, bathed in golden
sunshine, draws one to itself and its smooth desolation of sweet, dry
grasses as the parched, fragrant expanse rustles under the soughing
wind!

"You ask about that woman, eh?" queries Konev, whom I find leaning
against one of the poplar trunks, and embracing it with an arm.

"Yes. From where does she hail?"

"From Riazan, she says. Another story of hers is that her name is
Tatiana."

"Has she been with you long?"

"No. In fact, it was only this morning, some thirty versts from here,
that I overtook her and her companion. However, I have seen her before,
at Maikop-on-Laba, during the season of hay harvest, when she had with
her an elderly, smoothfaced muzhik who might have been a soldier, and
certainly was either her lover or an uncle, as well as a bully and a
drunkard of the type which, before it has been two days in a place,
starts about as many brawls. At present, however, she is tramping with
none but this female companion, for, after that the 'uncle' had drunk
away his very belly-band and reins, he was clapped in gaol. The
Cossack, you know, is an awkward person to deal with."

Although Konev speaks without constraint, his eyes are fixed upon the
ground in a manner suggestive of some disturbing thought. And as the
breeze ruffles his dishevelled beard and ragged pea-jacket it ends by
robbing his head of his cap--of the tattered, peakless clout which,
with rents in its lining, so closely resembles a tchepchik [Woman's
mob-cap], as to communicate to the picturesque features of its wearer
an appearance comically feminine.

"Ye-es," expectorating, and drawling the words between his teeth, he
continues: "She is a remarkable woman, a regular, so to speak,
highstepper. Yet it must have been the Devil himself that blew this
young oa