I waked up late, at ten o'clock in the morning, feeling ill. I felt giddy and my head was aching; I glanced towards Elena's bed. The bed was empty. At the same moment from my little room on the right sounds reached me as though someone were sweeping with a broom. I went to look. Elena had a broom in her hand and holding up her smart dress which she had kept on ever since at evening, she was sweeping the floor. The wood for the stove was piled up in the corner. The table had been scrubbed, the kettle had been cleaned. In a word, Elena was doing the housework.
"Listen, Elena," I cried. "Who wants you to sweep the floor? I don't wish it, you're ill. Have you come here to be a drudge for me?"
"Who is going to sweep the floor here?" she answered, drawing herself up and looking straight at me.
