In the shade of a boat Vassili Legostev was lying down; his duty was to watch over the interests of the fishing merchant Grebentchikok, whose fisheries were established on this promontory. Lying flat on his stomach, his head in his hands, he was watching with a fixed gaze the sea, and still further away the almost invisible coast-line. Over there, on the water, a black speck was dancing up and down, and Vassili watched it with satisfaction as it grew larger, and drew nearer.
Half closing his eyes, to shut out the strong glare from the waves, his face beamed with pleasure: it was Malva who was coming. She would come laughing so joyously that her bosom would rise and fall in tempting throbs; she would throw her soft strong arms around him, would kiss him, and in her sonorous voice that frightened away the seagulls she would give him news of what was going on over there on the shore. Together they would make some capital fish-soup and they would drink vodka, whilst they chatted and played about together; then as the daylight waned they would regale themselves with boiling hot tea and little rolls, and afterwards go to bed. This was how they spent every Sunday and feast-day. At dawn he would take her, still heavy with sleep, back across the sea through the fresh morning air. Malva with sleepy eyes would sit down near the rudder, and he would row and watch her. She was so quaint at those times--quaint and charming, like? soft little cat that has eaten a good meal. Sometimes she would slide down to the bottom of the boat, and would sleep there, rolled up against him like a ball. Often she did this.
To-day even the gulls seemed languid with the heat They stood in rows on the sand, their beaks open, and their wings hanging; or else they rocked idly on the waves without uttering their accustomed cries, or showing their usual fierce animation.
It seemed to Vassili that Malva was not alone in the boat Could it be that Sereja had come with her again? Vassili moved uneasily on the sand, and then sat up shading his eyes with his hand; he seemed trying, with a vexed expression on his face, to discover who it could be who was arriving.... Malva was holding the rudder. It was not Sereja rowing with that strong but clumsy stroke. If it had been Sereja, Malva would not have troubled herself to steer.