wanted to skip and jump, to laugh, to shout, to tease, to flirt.
In her cheap cotton dress with blue pansies on it, in her red shoes
and the same straw hat, she seemed to herself, little, simple,
light, ethereal as a butterfly. She ran over the rickety bridge and
looked for a minute into the water, in order to feel giddy; then,
shrieking and laughing, ran to the other side to the drying-shed,
and she fancied that all the men were admiring her, even Kerbalay.
When in the rapidly falling darkness the trees began to melt into
the mountains and the horses into the carriages, and a light gleamed
in the windows of the _duhan_, she climbed up the mountain by the
little path which zigzagged between stones and thorn-bushes and sat
on a stone. Down below, the camp-fire was burning. Near the fire,
with his sleeves tucked up, the deacon was moving to and fro, and
his long black shadow kept describing a circle round it; he put on
wood, and with a spoon tied to a long stick he stirred the cauldron.
Samoylenko, with a copper-red face, was fussing round the fire just
as though he were in his own kitchen, shouting furiously:

"Where's the salt, gentlemen? I bet you've forgotten it. Why are
you all sitting about like lords while I do the work?"

Laevsky and Nikodim Alexandritch were sitting side by side on the
fallen tree looking pensively at the fire. Marya Konstantinovna,
Katya, and Kostya were taking the cups, saucers, and plates out of
the baskets. Von Koren, with his arms folded and one foot on a
stone, was standing on a bank at the very edge of the water, thinking
about something. Patches of red light from the fire moved together
with the shadows over the ground near the dark human figures, and
quivered on the mountain, on the trees, on the bridge, on the
drying-shed; on the other side the steep, scooped-out bank was all