“There, you are finding fault again,” the lady pouted, not in the least disconcerted. “I can’t endure suspiciousness! I can’t endure it! It’s stupid, stupid!”

“I am not finding fault, but⁠ ⁠… why say what is not true? If you rode about with Tatars, so be it, God bless you, but⁠ ⁠… why shuffle about it?”

“H’m!⁠ ⁠… you are a queer one!” cried the lady, revolted. “He is jealous of Suleiman! as though one could ride up into the mountains without a guide! I should like to see you do it! If you don’t know the ways there, if you don’t understand, you had better hold your tongue! Yes, hold your tongue. You can’t take a step there without a guide.”

“So it seems!”

“None of your silly grins, if you please! I am not a Yulia.⁠ ⁠… I don’t justify her but I⁠ ⁠… ! Though I don’t pose as a saint, I don’t forget myself to that degree. My Suleiman never overstepped the limits.⁠ ⁠… No-o! Mametkul used to be sitting at Yulia’s all day long, but in my room as soon as it struck eleven: ‘Suleiman, march! Off you go!’ And my foolish Tatar boy would depart. I made him mind his p’s and q’s, hubby! As soon as he began grumbling about money or anything, I would say ‘How? Wha-at? Wha-a-a-t?’ And his heart would be in his mouth directly.⁠ ⁠… Ha-ha-ha! His eyes, you know, Vassitchka, were as black, as black, like coals, such an amusing little Tatar face, so funny and silly! I kept him in order, didn’t I just!”

“I can fancy⁠ ⁠…” mumbled her husband, rolling up pellets of bread.