Beautiful Pelagea, looking so refined and soft, brought them towels and soap, and Alehin went to the bathhouse with his guests.

“It’s a long time since I had a wash,” he said, undressing. “I have got a nice bathhouse, as you see⁠—my father built it⁠—but I somehow never have time to wash.”

He sat down on the steps and soaped his long hair and his neck, and the water round him turned brown.

“Yes, I must say,” said Ivan Ivanovitch meaningly, looking at his head.

“It’s a long time since I washed⁠ ⁠…” said Alehin with embarrassment, giving himself a second soaping, and the water near him turned dark blue, like ink.

Ivan Ivanovitch went outside, plunged into the water with a loud splash, and swam in the rain, flinging his arms out wide. He stirred the water into waves which set the white lilies bobbing up and down; he swam to the very middle of the millpond and dived, and came up a minute later in another place, and swam on, and kept on diving, trying to touch the bottom.

“Oh, my goodness!” he repeated continually, enjoying himself thoroughly. “Oh, my goodness!” He swam to the mill, talked to the peasants there, then returned and lay on his back in the middle of the pond, turning his face to the rain. Burkin and Alehin were dressed and ready to go, but he still went on swimming and diving. “Oh, my goodness!⁠ ⁠…” he said. “Oh, Lord, have mercy on me!⁠ ⁠…”

“That’s enough!” Burkin shouted to him.