unced that 'La fille c'est
tres joulie,' and, laughing stupidly, at once went out.

Chapter XIII

Meanwhile the tattoo had sounded in the village square. The people had
returned from their work. The herd lowed as in clouds of golden dust it
crowded at the village gate. The girls and the women hurried through
the streets and yards, turning in their cattle. The sun had quite
hidden itself behind the distant snowy peaks. One pale bluish shadow
spread over land and sky. Above the darkened gardens stars just
discernible were kindling, and the sounds were gradually hushed in the
village. The cattle having been attended to and left for the night, the
women came out and gathered at the corners of the streets and, cracking
sunflower seeds with their teeth, settled down on the earthen
embankments of the houses. Later on Maryanka, having finished milking
the buffalo and the other two cows, also joined one of these groups.

The group consisted of several women and girls and one old Cossack man.

They were talking about the abrek who had been killed.

The Cossack was narrating and the women questioning him.

'I expect he'll get a handsome reward,' said one of the women.

'Of course. It's said that they'll send him a cross.'

'Mosev did try to wrong him. Took the gun away from him, but the
authorities at Kizlyar heard of it.'

'A mean creature that Mosev is!'

'They say Lukashka has come home,' remarked one of the girls.

'He and Nazarka are merry-making at Yamka's.' (Yamka was an unmarried,
disreputable Cossack woman who kept an illicit pot-house.) 'I heard say
they had drunk half a pailful.'

'What luck that Snatcher has,' somebody remarked. 'A real snatcher. But
there's no denying he's a fine lad, smart enough for anything, a
right-minded lad! His father was just such another. Daddy Kiryak was:
he takes after his father. When he was killed the whole village howled.
Look, there they are,' added the speaker, pointing to the Cossacks who
were coming down the street towards them.

'And Ergushov has managed to come along with them too! The drunkard!'

Lukashka, Nazarka, and Ergushov, having emptied half a pail of vodka,
were coming towards the girls. The faces of all three, but especially
that of the old Cossack, were redder than usual. Ergushov was reeling
and kept laughing and nudging Nazarka in the ribs.

'Why are you not singing?' he shouted to the girls. 'Sing to our
merry-making, I tell you!'

They were