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Updated: May 13, 2025
A young man entered with a yellow valise in his hand, quickly looked around, and walked straight to the mother. "To Moscow, to your niece?" he asked in a low voice. "Yes, to Tanya." "Very well." He put the valise on the bench near her, quickly whipped out a cigarette, lighted it, and raising his hat, silently walked toward the other door.
"Come," said Tanya, and tried to laugh again, but the laugh would not come, and patches of colour came into her face. She began breathing quickly and walked very quickly, but not to the house, but further into the park. "I was not thinking of it . . . I was not thinking of it," she said, wringing her hands in despair.
Some one shouted to the baker: "It's a bad job that you've started, Pavel!" "Do your work!" answered the baker savagely. We felt that the soldier had been deeply aggrieved, and that danger threatened Tanya. We felt this, and at the same time we were all possessed by a burning curiosity, most agreeable to us. What would happen? Would Tanya hold out against the soldier?
Werner pointed at Vasily, who stood motionless. "I understand," Musya nodded. "And you?" "I? Tanya will go with Sergey, you go with Vasya.... I will go alone. That doesn't matter, I can do it, you know."
When he heard the footsteps of Yegor Semyonitch going out into the garden, Kovrin rang the bell and asked the footman to bring him some wine. He drank several glasses of Lafitte, then wrapped himself up, head and all; his consciousness grew clouded and he fell asleep. Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya often quarrelled and said nasty things to each other. They quarrelled about something that morning.
Just as Tanya Kovalchuk had thought all her life only of others and never of herself, so now she suffered and grieved painfully, but only for her comrades. She pictured death, only as awaiting them, as something tormenting only to Sergey Golovin, to Musya, to the others as for herself, it did not concern her.
"A queer mirage," said Tanya, who did not like the legend. "But the most wonderful part of it all," laughed Kovrin, "is that I simply cannot recall where I got this legend from. Have I read it somewhere? Have I heard it? Or perhaps I dreamed of the black monk. I swear I don't remember. But the legend interests me. I have been thinking about it all day."
TATYÁNA stands before the mirror putting on a kerchief; AFÓNYA is lying on the stove-couch; LUKÉRYA comes in with a figured table-cloth. LUKÉRYA. There, Tánya, I've borrowed a cloth from the neighbor to cover our table. TATYÁNA. Have you started the samovar? LUKÉRYA. Long ago; it'll boil soon. Well, you see it's just as I told you; that kerchief is much more becoming to you.
Will she resist the soldier? And almost all of us cried out with confidence: "Tanya? She will resist! You cannot take her with bare hands!" We were very desirous of testing the strength of our godling; we persistently proved to one another that our godling was a strong godling, and that Tanya would come out the victor in this combat.
Then I was a girl and could love any one I wished; now I am married. Just think! BABÁYEV. Why, certainly. Yet I can't imagine you belonging to any one else. Do what you will, I can hardly control my desire to call you Tánya, as I used to. TATYÁNA. Why control yourself? Call me Tánya. BABÁYEV. But what's the use, my dear! You don't love me any more! TATYÁNA. Who told you that?
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