It delighted him to see how freely and gracefully her figure bent: into what folds her only garment, a pink smock, draped itself on her bosom and along her shapely legs; how she drew herself up and her tight-drawn smock showed the outline of her heaving bosom, how the soles of her narrow feet in her worn red slippers rested on the ground without altering their shape; how her strong arms with the sleeves rolled up, exerting the muscles, used the spade almost as if in anger, and how her deep dark eyes sometimes glanced at him.

Though the delicate brows frowned, yet her eyes expressed pleasure and a knowledge of her own beauty.
'I say, Olenin, have you been up long ?' said Beletski as he entered the yard dressed in the coat of a Caucasian officer.
'Ah, Beletski,' replied Olenin, holding out his hand.

'How is it you are out so early ?' 'I had to.

I was driven out; we are having a ball tonight.

Maryanka, of course you'll come to Ustenka's ?' he added, turning to the girl.
Olenin felt surprised that Beletski could address this woman so easily.
But Maryanka, as though she had not heard him, bent her head, and throwing the spade across her shoulder went with her firm masculine tread towards the outhouse.
'She's shy, the wench is shy,' Beletski called after her.