river.

"We are engaged, Mavra," said he. "Let it be once for all."

"No," she replied calmly, without blushing.

"Why? Do you dislike me?" he asked.

"No, not more than other people. I don't wish to marry."

This was enough to make the carpenter persist in his wish. He tried
every means--went the length of begging the countess to intercede for
him. Mavra, sent for by her mistress, gave the same explanation.

"Well, if the child does not wish to marry, leave her alone," said the
lady philosophically, who would have scrupled to force a fly to drink
a drop of milk.

And Mavra, by her own desire, was devoted to celibacy.

In the month of September Serge returned, but only for eight days. He
brought no dogs nor equipages with him this time. When he saw Mavra he
gave her a friendly smile, and then thought no more about her. When he
went away his mother accompanied him, and the house was again plunged
into solitude long before the usual time. Six weeks later the news
arrived that the young count was married.

This announcement was the signal for great rejoicing. According to
ancient usage, barrels of sweet beer and hydromel were brewed; white
bread and meat were distributed to the whole village. The poor had
abundant alms, and the whole retinue of servants had new dresses.
Mavra had a handsome blue woolen dress and a silk handkerchief. No one
was forgotten; debts in arrear were remitted, and the young girl was
suddenly told she might return for the winter to her family, till her
father could make new arrangements for the payment in kind of what he
owed.

This was no joyful news for the young peasant girl, but resignation is
an inherent Russian virtue; she packed up her clothes in a basket,
and one fine morning courageously set out on foot for her native
village. She was received coolly by her mother. One mouth more to
feed! besides which, peasants are sparing of their demonstrations of
affection. After a few days Mavra relapsed into her old habits; bent
all day over her embroidery frame by the narrow window, in the
evening standing leaning against the door, gazing, as was her wont,
at the stars. More than ever she loved them; behind these marvelous
lights, that she likened to tears--for she was often sad now--she saw
the black eyes and handsome, indifferent face that had taken
possession of her soul. As long as she was staying in the grand
seignorial mansion where the image of her idol met her at every step
in f