Aglaya, who from time to time in the city changed herself as an artist, went to paint in the afternoon. An easel, a box with brushes, paints, pencils, as well as a basket full of food, which should brighten Aglaia’s loneliness on the beautiful bank of a deep river - what else does a painter need at the time of inspiration? And nothing foretold misfortunes, and not a single guardian angel sent Aglaya over a single hint that the day would end not so badly, but not at all as intended.

And the day was wonderful. Moderately hot, moderately windy - the brim of the hat saved Aglaya from the sun, the lace sleeves of the dress and the flounces on the hem fluttered with the agitated wings of the moths. Aglaya was sure that there would be another artist here and now, he would certainly have captured this magnificent picture on the canvas - a steep, steep bank of a fast river, a forest covering the horizon, a colorful cover of the fields stretching to the horizon, and a thin figure frozen on the edge of the cliff little mistress of a large estate.

Hatch after stroke, stroke after stroke, layer after layer hints appeared on the yellow-green fields, and on the blue sky with puffy pale, illusive foggy clouds ... What exactly had distracted her from writing the picture, now Aglaya already will not remember. The sweet smell of berries, pine needles, in the memory of scraps of talk about a myriad of mushrooms in the forest - and on soft paws, the crept-up evening caught a surprise deep into the forest of Aglaya, which seemed so benevolent at first glance ...

Which ended soon, though as suddenly as it began. The sky only cleared a little, revealing to the view of Aglaia rare useless stars, by which she still could not navigate. It smelled brightly of wet grass, drops of foliage drummed on burdocks, a heavy resinous aroma of spruce fir trees - all this would be fine alone, but collectively meant a quick cold, a spoiled dress and prospects to spend the night in an unpleasant company of forest natives. Feet fell into the wet moss with a quiet smacking sound, aside the swamped bank of the river rustled thickly with reeds. The birds began to call out, a distant branch began to shout in the distance, the breaking off branch snapped ... The old forest lived its own life, and he didn’t care for the lost human bug.

Aglaya was comforted only by the fact that, of course, she had already begun to look for her. As soon as the rain ended, they started right away. And if it is not over the village yet? And if the hungry wolf finds her before the lazy servants? And if ... On this, Aglaia’s disturbing thoughts were interrupted by the threatening rustle of a dark patch of bushes. There was nowhere to run. It was pointless to run - the hem of the dress soaked with water stuck to his feet, held down the movements, not to mention snags, hummocks, stumps, and branches, striving to get caught under the foot, clinging to the dress, getting to the not yet scratched skin. It remained to stand still and stop breathing - and a bright spot barely discernible in the thick dusk was stuck out of the bushes ... without a doubt, a dog muzzle. The muzzle cheerfully, loudly and passionately barked at the startled Aglaya and, having turned her ear at the inviting, clearly human whistle, which sounded as music in Aglaya’s ears, hid in the bushes again. Aglaya, without losing time, rushed after him - right to the threshold of the hut.

- Hot water, wine, and stroller home! - Aglaya choked on these words that were not uttered, as if stumbling over the gaze of a man standing on the porch of a squat house covered in moss. Men of a stranger, and, oh horror, gazing at her with the drunken frankness of a pastoral stable boy.

He stared at the drops, slowly flowing down from his face to his neck, rolling down in cold hollow-wise rains into a deep hollow between the hemispheres rising from rapid breathing, barely covered with a wet lace, deeply carved neckline - Aglaia felt quite concretely invisible touches, walked with an appreciative look legs, except that his back to him did not turn and did not pat on the bottom.

The maiden, of course, was a sad and pitiful sight — there was a bruise on Alela’s cheekbone, hands were scratched, her dress was dirty and torn at the hem, wet hair stuck to her head (her hat had been lost for a long time), she was draped over her back. The stuck together eyelashes, the nose reddened by cold, and the bluish lips did not add charm to the girl and made her look like a peasant woman who was dressed up in an old dress given away by the use of a lady. Aglaya, feeling a condescending mockery in the man’s gaze at the seemingly absurd attempts to pretend to be a true lady, wanted to stomp her foot and burn the insolent bastard with not a look, so to speak, but instead she almost burst into tears. Yes, and it was from what. Confused, scared, frozen to the bone — and instead of the comfort of their own home, the dubious warmth of a hunting hut in a company is more than a suspicious person. Unfortunately, there is no choice so far ...

- Come in, if you came, the princess ... - A man clutched his hand over the doorjamb and gallantly stood aside. - Ali spend the night in the woods if you please? - Aglaya raised an eyebrow at the “princess” and caught her azure blue cloudy look. However, she was not capricious, not without hesitation she overcame three steps of the porch, received a hospitable slap on the buttock, flushed red and with displeasure found in a hotly heated room, lit only by a pair of candles standing on a dirty table filled with food, one more, no less hospitable, and no more drunken subject. The first one was distinguished by a hussar mustache and become, the second one was also a large, evenly trimmed beard, and a bearish clumsiness. At first glance, a mustache could have been given for thirty years, Aglaya didn’t immediately like the cheerful look and stiff crease at the lips, his gray hair had not yet silvered silver. The second, with a beard, was clearly older, more serious and safer, or something. And let Aglaya shake with a nervous chill, but the night forest seemed to her more terrible than two almost gentlemen.

- It is not good to roam the swamps alone at night! Tea, not a witch! - with a reproach rumbled in a beard sitting at a table, crunching a green onion feather. The first one, who met Aglaya on the threshold and felt from her appearance, seems to be an incredible delight, bordering on mockery, under the elbow already insistently drew the girl to the door, apparently from the second room. Aglaya, feeling violent, sprang into an angry spring and clutched the edge of the table with a stranglehold, resisting all the remaining forces, intending to burst into the most abusive words of all she owned.

Mustache laughed. Every action of Aglaia, every word of her caused an attack of sincere though drunk fun in him. Apparently, he found her a funny little animal.

- You, Madmazel, in a wet dress chill out! If you please, change clothes in a room or two bored women will be waiting for a charming, I am sure, spectacle? - Aglaia flared up again, she wanted to tell the brute everything she thinks of these types, but ... she didn’t say anything. Wet dress has long been unpleasantly cold skin, and hair should be combed. Later ... Later she will come up with a way to punish for the rudeness of one, or both.

After some time, Aglaia herself did not know whether to cry or laugh, standing alone in a room with a low ceiling, a fading candle, a couple of wide benches covered with skins instead of bed linen, and a wad of her wet clothes on the floor.She was dressed in a dimensionless men's shirt on a naked body - the hem hung below the knees, the sleeves had to be rolled up, the collar, so as not to open openly and shamelessly, to hold it. Fortunately, a clean shirt was ... If you gird yourself with a sash, then the shirt distantly began to resemble the worst of dresses, sewn in the whole history of mankind. But the high felt boots, stretched on bare feet for lack of other footwear, harmoniously looked.

Cry ...