the hay into a heap with his foot; Lubotchka, pink with the heat
and pretty as ever, stood with her hands behind her, watching the
lazy movements of his big handsome person.

Olga Mihalovna knew that her husband was attractive to women, and
did not like to see him with them. There was nothing out of the way
in Pyotr Dmitritch's lazily raking together the hay in order to sit
down on it with Lubotchka and chatter to her of trivialities; there
was nothing out of the way, either, in pretty Lubotchka's looking
at him with her soft eyes; but yet Olga Mihalovna felt vexed with
her husband and frightened and pleased that she could listen to
them.

"Sit down, enchantress," said Pyotr Dmitritch, sinking down on the
hay and stretching. "That's right. Come, tell me something."

"What next! If I begin telling you anything you will go to sleep."

"Me go to sleep? Allah forbid! Can I go to sleep while eyes like
yours are watching me?"

In her husband's words, and in the fact that he was lolling with
his hat on the back of his head in the presence of a lady, there
was nothing out of the way either. He was spoilt by women, knew
that they found him attractive, and had adopted with them a special
tone which every one said suited him. With Lubotchka he behaved as
with all women. But, all the same, Olga Mihalovna was jealous.

"Tell me, please," said Lubotchka, after a brief silence--"is it
true that you are to be tried for something?"