the shafts, after which he halted, and with a selfconscious smirk, awaited until the cart again overtook him.
And now Malka was no longer in tears when she brought the dinner, but still Poldik always turned his eyes to meet her, and to see how she looked. Malka was sometimes already smiling in the distance, and after this it appeared to Poldik that only one person in the world could cook so well, and that his dinner tasted excellent. He did not say so, indeed, in so many words, but his looks expressed as much. When he replaced the first plate in her basket he smiled, and also smiled after the second course, and concluded with the words “You are a capital cook, Malka.” Malka smiled too, but with modest downcast eyes; when she departed Poldik gave her his hand, and was long enough in saying good-bye. For once in their lives his horses got plenty of oats.
All that afternoon this incident left traces of irregularity in his gait and action, which were apparent to everyone even at a distance. His face looked as if he were still all the time munching his dinner, and praising Malka for her cooking. He kept saying “Cl! cl!” and even his “hee!” was frequently exchanged for these euphonious sounds. And when he cracked his whip it was with an air which plainly said “How proud I am to be able to crack a whip.” He swore with a face that belied
