"I'll come back in a moment," said Vassili suddenly going towards the
cabin. "Don't stay there in the sun, I'm going to fetch some water.
We'll make some soup. I'll give you some fish soup, Iakov."

He seized a saucepan that was lying on the ground and disappeared behind
the fishing nets.

Malva and the peasant followed him.

"Well, my fine young fellow, I brought you to your father, didn't I?"
said Malva, brushing up against Iakov's robust figure.

He turned towards her his face framed in its curled blond beard, and
with a brilliant gleam in his eyes said:

"Yes, here we are--It's fine here, isn't it? What a stretch of sea!"

"The sea is great. Has the old man changed much?"

"No, not much. I expected to find him more grey. He's still pretty
solid."

"How long is it since you saw him?"

"About five years. I was nearly seventeen when he left the village."

They entered the cabin, the air of which was suffocating from the heat
and the odor of cooking fish. They sat down. Between them there was a
roughly-hewn oak table. They looked at each other for a long time
without speaking.