IX
It was just before Trinity Sunday. Liza was in her fifth month, and, though careful, she was brisk and active. Both the mothers, his and hers, were living in the house, but under pretext of watching and safeguarding her only upset her by their tiffs. Eugene was specially engrossed with a new experiment for the cultivation of sugar-beet on a large scale.
Just before Trinity Liza decided that it was necessary to have a thorough house-cleaning, as it had not been done since Easter, and she hired two women by the day, to help the servants wash the floors and windows, beat the furniture and the carpets, and put covers on them. The women came early in the morning, heated the coppers, and set to work. One of the two was Stepanida, who had just weaned her baby boy. Through the office-clerk—whom she now carried on with—she had begged for the job of washing the floors. She wanted to have a good look at the new mistress. Stepanida was living by herself, as formerly, her husband being away, and she was up to tricks, as she had formerly been first with old Daniel (who had once caught her taking some logs of firewood), afterwards with the master, and now with the young clerk. She was not concerning herself any longer about her master. "He has a wife now," she thought. But it would be good to have a look at the lady and at her establishment: folk said it was well arranged.
Eugene had not seen her since he had met her with the child. Having a baby to attend to she had not been going out to work, and he seldom walked through the village. That morning, on the eve of Trinity Sunday, Eugene rose at five o'clock and rode to the fallow land which was to be sprinkled with phosphates, and he left the house before the women were about it, and while they were still engaged lighting the copper fires.
Merry, contented, and hungry, Eugene returned to breakfast. He dismounted from his mare at the gate and handed her over to the gardener. Flicking the high grass with his whip and repeating, as one often does, a phrase he had just uttered, he walked towards the house. The phrase he repeated was: "phosphates justify"—what or to whom he neither knew nor reflected.
They were beating a carpet on the grass. The furniture had been brought out.
"There now! What a house-cleaning Liza has undertaken! . . . Phosphates justify. . . . What a manageress she is! A manageress! Yes, a manageress," said he to himself, vividly imagining her in her white wrapper and with her smiling joyful face, as it nearly always was when he looked at her. "Yes, I must change my boots, or else 'phosphates justify,' that is, smell of manure, and the manageress is in such a condition. Why 'in such a condition'? Because a new little Irtenev is growing there inside her," he thought. "Yes, phosphates justify," and smiling at his thoughts he put his hand to the door of his room.
But he had not time to push the door before it opened of itself and he met, face to face, a woman coming towards him carrying a pail, barefoot, and with sleeves turned up high. He stepped aside to let her pass, she too stepped aside, adjusting her kerchief with a wet hand.
"Go on, go on, I won't go there, if you . . ." began Eugene and, suddenly, recognizing her, stopped.
She glanced merrily at him with smiling eyes, and pulling down her skirt went out by the door.