rait, brightly illumining it. "Do not breathe too deeply or too lightly. Your breathing must go smoothly without any yawning, gurgling, coughing, panting or sneezing, for magnetic substance cannot stand jolts." Thus spoke Cagliostro as he seated Alexei in a low armchair before the portrait. Drops of perspiration streamed from under his wig down his red face with the twitching eyebrows. As he moved about he did not stop talking for a minute, and gave Margadon his orders by signs. The Ethiopian took several bunches of dried herbs from a box, put them in a copper bowl, set it down on a low table in front of Alexei, then took a sort of mandolin with a long finger-board out of its case, carried it into the back of the room, then went and brought a large, thin and obviously very strong net, stretched it out on his hands, and squatted on the floor near the door. While he did all this, Cagliostro chalked a large circle on the floor near the armchair in which sat Alexei. "I repeat," he said. "You must strain all your imagination and picture this person," he indicated the portrait with the chalk, "unveiled, that is naked... All the details of her body will depend on the power of your imagination... I recall in 1519 in Paris the due de Guise asked me to materialize Madame de Sevignac who died from a gastric disease... I was not quick enough to warn the due, he was too impatient, and Madame de Sevignac turned out to be something like a bag stuffed with straw under her dress... I lost eight thousand livres, and it took me a great deal of trouble to drive that enraged scarecrow back into the portrait. And so, when you have very meticulously pictured the body of your heart's desire, you must picture it fully dressed, and here you must proceed without haste for, as it happened in 1251 when at the request of the widow I called out the spirit of the deceased French king Louis the Bald, he appeared with only the front of his body clothed, while he was naked behind, which caused much amazement..." Straightening up and licking the chalk from his fingers, he said: "Margadon, go and call the Countess." He stepped back a little, measured the circle with his eyes, then bent down again and, going round the circle, chalked on it the twelve signs of the zodiac, the twenty two signs of the cabbala, the keys and the gates, the four elements, the three beginnings, and the seven spheres. This done, he entered the circle. "You shall have a perfect example of my art," he said importantly. "Her ability to speak, her digestion, all the bodily functions and sensitivity will be just like those in a person born by a woman." He leaned over Alexei who lay like a corpse in his armchair, took his pulse, ordered him to close his eyes, and placed his hot, fat hand on his forehead. In this moment Alexei heard light steps and the rustle of silk. He knew that it was Maria who had come in, and moaned, making a desperate effort to break free of the terrible will of this man whose fingers were pressing down painfully on his eyeballs. "Do not move, concentrate, follow my instructions... I begin," Cagliostro said imperatively, took a long stiletto from the little table, entered the circle and traced the great sign of Makropozopus. Standing inside the circle, he threw up his arms, and his deeply lined face with the drooping nose turned to stone. Behind his back Alexei heard the sweet sounds of the mandolin. "I am locked in. I am securely protected by all the signs, I am strong. I order," spoke Cagliostro in a sing-song voice, which mounted and mounted in volume. "O spirits of the air, Sylphs, I call you in the name of the Inexpressible which is pronounced as the word Esha... Do what you must..." Alexei stared at the candle-lit haughty face of Praskovia Pavlovna, proudly set on the tall neck. In that minute he remembered all the anguish of his dreamings, all the longing of his sleepless nights, and now her face, so beloved only yesterday, appeared frightening, hurtful, feverishly sallow like an illness. However, feeling that he should obey just the same, he looked down from the face to Praskovia Pavlovna's bared shoulders, and forced himself to picture her as told. The blood rushed to his face. He felt a stab of shame and a sharp pain in his chest. When Cagliostro uttered the word Esha, the candle-flames began to waver, and a whiff of rancid air ran through the room. Alexei dug his fingers into the arms of his chair. Cagliostro continued in an ever stronger voice: "Spirits of the earth, Gnomussi, I call you in the name of the Inexpressible which is pronounced as the syllable El. Do what you must." He raised the stiletto and lowered it, and suddenly the whole house shook as from an earthquake, the crystal chandelier tinkled, doors banged everywhere in the house, the door of the book-case flew open and a book fell out. Cagliostro continued: "Spirits of the waters, Nymphs, I call you in the name of the Inexpressible which is pronounced as the sound Ra... Come and do what you must..." At these words Alexei heard the distant sound of the surf and never taking his eyes off Praskovia Pavlovna noticed to his horror that her features were becoming hazy and elusive... "Spirits of the fire," Cagliostro now spoke in a thunderous voice. "The mighty and the wilful, I call you in the name of the Inexpressible which is pronounced as the letter Y. Spirits of the fire, Salamanders, I call you and adjure you with the sign of Solomon to obey and do what you must..." He raised both arms and strained upward on tiptoe in extreme tension. "Do what you must according to the laws of nature, without digressing from the form, without mocking and without breach of your obedience to me..." Whereupon, a soundless, dancing flame ran round the carved frame, it was so bright that the candle-flames blushed, and all of a sudden blinding rays of light started from Praskovia Pavlovna's image. The herbs in the copper bowl caught fire. Maria's voice, quavering and feeble, sang something not Russian behind Alexei. But before she had finished singing, Alexei cried out wildly: Praskovia Pavlovna, freeing herself, released her head from the canvas and unsealed her lips. "Give me your hand," she said in a thin, cold and spiteful voice. In the ensuing silence, Alexei heard the mandolin fall on the floor with a thump, Maria's quick sigh, and Cagliostro's wheezing breath. "Give me your hand, I said, and I shall be free," said Praskovia Pavlovna. "Your hand, give her your hand!" cried Cagliostro. As in a trance Alexei went to the portrait. Praskovia Pavlovna quickly thrust out her small hand and gripped Alexei's with cold, dry fingers. He sprang back and she, pulled along by him, stepped out of the portrait and jumped down on to the carpet. This was a thin, very beautiful and posturing woman of the medium height. Her movements were somewhat erratic like the flight of a bat. She ran up to the pier-glass and, looking at herself this way and that, spoke as she patted her hair in place: "Surprising... Was I asleep or what? What a sallow colour! And my gown all crumpled... The cut is funny too, too tight in the chest... Oh dear, I can't remember rightly... I've forgotten... (And she rubbed her eyes.) I've forgotten everything..." Holding up her full skirt with the tips of her fingers, she walked up and down the room, and then brought her dark, lustreless eyes to rest on Alexei. Slowly she smiled, revealing her small, sharp teeth and pale gums, and took his arm. "You look at me so strangely, you frighten me," she said with a coy little laugh, and drew him to the balcony door. "We must have a talk." When they left the room, Cagliostro hugged himself under his fur-lined overcoat and laughed. "That was an excellent cadaver," he said, his whole body shaking with laughter. Then, he turned on his heels and, no longer laughing, fixed his stare on Maria. "Crying, are you?" She quickly brushed away her tears and, rising from her chair, stood before her husband with lowered head. "Even this has not convinced you of my enormous power over dead and living nature, isn't it so?" Without lifting her head Maria glanced at her husband with obstinate hatred. The fright she had gone through and the aversion she felt distorted her sweet face. "And your Prince Charming chose to find consolation with that nauseating cadaver and not you." "You will answer for practising black magic on Judgement Day," Maria said in a low yet firm voice. At this Cagliostro turned quite purple, pulled his hands out from under his overcoat, and glowered at her ferociously from under his bushy eyebrows. Maria, however, stood perfectly still before him, and he said with utmost unctuousness: "For three years, madam, I have been patiently waiting for your love without resorting to any art at all, while you have nothing but escape on your ungrateful little mind. You should not let my patience run thin." "You have no power over my love anyway," Maria retorted. "You can't make me love you..." "Yes, I can." Maria smirked at this, and instantly the blood rushed to his eyes. "I shall seal you into a little phial, madam, and carry you about in my pocket." "Just the same you have no power over my love," Maria repeated. "If I survive I'll give my love to another man, never to you." "This time you've said too much," muttered Cagliostro and snatched up the stiletto from the table, but in the nick of time Margadon, who until then had been standing motionless behind his back, sprang forward and caught hold of his hand with amazing agility. Cagliostro growled, hit Margadon on the face with his left hand, flung away the stiletto, noisily exhaled a chestful of air and strode out of the room. Alexei with the thing that had a likeness to a woman and was addressed as Praskovia Pavlovna by him, walked along the path across the lawn to the ponds. The air was damp. The moon had risen over the garden, and its greyish light illumined the whole of the wide lawn. Spider webs, already stretched by their busy weavers, glinted here and there in the dark-blue grass. The flowers made whitish blots, a copious dew had fallen and the drops sparkled prettily. In the distance beyond the ponds the vapour rose in a silvery halo. Alexei walked without speaking, clenching his teeth and staring under his feet. Praskovia Pavlovna talked without a pause as she looked at the silver ball of the moon hanging over the lush greenery. "Ah, the moon, the moon! Alexis, how insensitive you are to this magic!" The words her cold thin voice dropped were like bits of glass, the swish of her silk skirt scraped at Alexei's nerves unbearably with its whistling sound, making him clench his teeth. His heart felt like a heavy lump of ice. It did not surprise him that walking arm in arm with him was something which an hour ago had lived only in his imagination. This jabbering, posturing creature in the full-skirted gown with a narrow bodice, pale-faced from the moonlight with deep shadows in the eye hollows, seemed as incorporeal to him as his dream. And in vain he told himself again and again: "Gratify your desire, come on, she's yours to enjoy..."-he simply could not overcome his aversion. When they came to the pond and the stone seat on which that morning he had talked with Maria, he asked Praskovia Pavlovna if she would not care to sit down. She sat down at once, flaring her skirt about her. "Alexis," she whispered, smiling widely at the moon. "Alexis, you are sitting with a lady so unfeelingly. After all, you should know how pleasant boldness is for a woman." He replied through set teeth: "If you knew how I dreamed of you you would not rebuke me." "Rebuke you?" She laughed, and it sounded like bits of glass scattered on the ground. "Rebuke you indeed, when all you do is press my hands, and that very weakly too. You might at least take me in your arms." Alexei raised his head, peered at her and his heart quavered. He put his right arm round her shoulders, and in his left hand he took both her hands. In the low-cut gown he could see her chest with the slightly protruding collar-bones breathing calmly and evenly. He brought his face close to hers, trying to recapture the enchantment it had had for him. "My dream," he said with anguish. She drew away from him slightly, smiling and shaking her head, and then looked straight into his eyes with her transparent eyes that glittered like dots of moonlight. "You feel elusive as a dream..." "Hold me tighter then," she said. He crushed her with all his might and kissed her on her cool lips, and she responded with such unexpected and urgent eagerness that he instantly sprang back: repugnance, loathing and horror made his gore rise. Stretching languidly and all but purring, she said after a while: "It's damp here, and I want to eat." Alexei got up quickly and started for the house. When he heard the swish of her silk skirts behind him, he walked faster and even changed to a run, but Praskovia Pavlovna caught up with him at once, and hung on his arm. "Alexis, you're such a very difficult person!" "Look here," he shouted, stopping. "We'd better part, don't you think?" "No, I don't think so at all," she replied, looking up into his face. "I like being with you." "But I think you loathsome, can't you understand?" He gave his arm a jerk to break free of her hold and ran, but she clung fast to his hand and flew after him down the path. "I don't believe you, I don't believe you, you did say yourself that I was your dream..." "Will you let me be or not?" "Never, mon cher, not until I die!" Thus, holding hands, they flew into the house. Alexei collapsed into an easy chair, while she stood before him, fanning herself and looking buoyant. "I shall have to work very, very hard, my dear, to curb your temper... You are selfish, you know." She folded her fan, perched on the arm of his chair, and said: "Darling, I terribly want something all the time, I don't know if I'm hungry or thirsty... At moments I feel as if cold water was trickling down my body..." Alexei leapt out of the chair, and gave the beaded tassel of the bell-rope a vigorous tug. "You'll be brought food, water, anything you want, so don't worry." Fedosia Ivanovna's soft steps were heard in response to the bell ringing somewhere in the back rooms. Blocking the half-open door with his body, Alexei asked his aunt to order some food to be brought to the library. Fedosia Ivanovna gave her nephew a strangely searching look, silently pushed him out of her way, walked into the room and saw a skinny-as she afterwards told it-dark-haired woman, not really a woman but a dead moth more like-standing there, twirling her fan, and looking at her piercingly. Fedosia Ivanovna's mouth fell open and her knees all but gave way. "Theodosie, don't you know me, ma chere!" asked the dark-haired one in a squeaky voice. Fedosia Ivanovna felt her legs folding up as she stared at the empty portrait frame on the wall. When Praskovia Pavlovna came a step closer to her, she quickly raised her arm and made the sign of the cross. "Come, auntie, what's there to be afraid of," said Alexei with something like exasperation. "It's all very simple: this lady is the product of Count Fenix's sorcery, do go and see about the food..." Wincing as from heartburn, he went to the door opening into the garden and, leaning against the doorframe, gazed at the moonlit lawn. He heard his aunt mumbling a prayer, then dashing off in her Mother Goose waddle, Praskovia Pavlovna snickering spitefully in her wake, and a panicky running-about and whispering starting in the house. He did not look round, though, and gazed miserably at the lighted windows of the guest wing. The tinkle of glasses and crockery sounded in the room- that was Fimka laying the small table, setting down the plates and dishes and probably casting horrified looks over her shoulder all the time. Praskovia Pavlovna sat down at the table and asked Fimka: "Slavewoman, what's in that dish?" "Mushrooms, mistress." "I'll have some." Fimka served the mushrooms and then stood behind her chair, and covered her mouth with her apron. Praskovia Pavlovna ate the mushrooms and ordered Fimka to give her some chicken noodle soup. "Your serving manners are atrocious," said Praskovia Pavlovna, as, Fimka set down the plate before her. "You may be a village wench, but your serving manners should be genteel." "I'll try to please, mistress." "Curtsy when you are speaking to your mistress!" said Praskovia Pavlovna, glaring at the poor girl with her dark eyes. Suddenly she banged her soup spoon on the table. "Curtsy, slavewoman! Bend your right leg... Don't wobble to left or right, keep a straight back... Pick up your skirt... Smile... Sweetly, more sweetly!" Alexei watched this scene with loathing. "Leave the girl alone," he said at last. "Fimka, go." Still holding the soup spoon in her hand, Praskovia Pavlovna looked round at him in amazement, and shrugged a shoulder. "Alexis, mon cher, I am the mistress here, it's not you who gives the orders. I shall have that wench flogged so she'll be quicker to learn..." The blood rushed to his head, but he controlled his fury and went out into the garden. His hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, Alexei walked across the lawn, his hose getting soaked up to the knees in the dew. Schemes, one madder than the other, were born in his head. Escape? Jump into the pond? Kill her? Kill the Count? Kill himself? But these schemes were like sparks that went out at once-he felt that he was doomed, that the cursed creature had him in its web like a spider, and who could tell what other frightening powers it possessed? "It was all my own, my own doing," he muttered. "I myself wanted my dream, I wanted the fantasy of my sleepless nights to come alive... We built up her body with horrible black magic... The most febrile of imaginations could never have thought up such nastiness..." He stopped and mopped the cold sweat on his brow. "But what if it's only a bad dream? I'll pinch myself and wake up in my clean bed in the morning... I'll see that pretty little meadow, the white geese, a peasant girl with a rake..." In utter misery he shook his head and raised his eyes. The moon was high above the garden, its light muted by hazy little clouds. The dismal croaking of the frogs reached him from the river... Suddenly, the silence of the garden was shattered by Praskovia Pavlovna's thin, shrill voice calling "Alexis! Alexis!" He stamped his foot in annoyance. Going to her in response to her call was out of the question, and running away was shameful. And now he saw three figures coming towards him: Margadon, Cagliostro and Praskovia Pavlovna. She reached him first and cried spitefully: "I know everything, my good sir! I thought your preoccupied look and your impudent talk was all part of a love game, but now I see that you have another woman on your mind! I won't have another woman anywhere near me, you hear?" "Oh for shame, for shame!" said Cagliostro as he approached Alexei. "I toiled in the sweat of my brow for you, and you turn your nose away from her!" "You fickle lover," shrieked Praskovia Pavlovna. "I'll have you chained to the wall in the basement!" "No, madam, chaining him to the wall won't do," objected Cagliostro. "As for you, sir, don't be so mulish, it's time to go home-the lady wants to sleep, and going to bed all by herself will distress her." The inertia he felt before took hold of him again, he sighed and shuffled homewards, pulled along by Praskovia Pavlovna, hanging on his arm. They were almost at the door into the library when he turned round and saw a woman's shadow on the curtain of the guest wing. He tried to break free of Praskovia's clutch and shouted "Maria!" but he was gripped from behind by Margadon who pushed him into the room and locked the door behind him. Alexei had given that shout because the scales seemed to fall from his eyes and he understood in what lay his salvation. Left tete-a-tete with Praskovia Pavlovna, he lit his pipe, sat down on a rung of the step-ladder and pretended to be listening. She threatened to keep him chained to the wall till he rotted, she screamed that the whole household was against her, that in the morning she would throw out Fedosia Ivanovna's junk, tear out Fimka's hair with her own hands, have all the servants flogged, and establish her own rule in the house... Alexei waited for the screaming to tire her, but her anger showed no signs of abating. He listened but did not hear her-his heart was hammering so. He decided to take action. He knocked out his pipe, stood up and took a stretch. "Those are all small things," he said, yawning. "Let's go to bed." Praskovia Pavlovna immediately broke off her stream of words and her parched lips parted in a smile of happy surprise. Alexei took the candelabrum with lighted candles from the table and drew back the curtain screening the alcove, inviting Praskovia Pavlovna to go in first. The moment she had gone in, he held the candelabrum close to the curtain and the crimson velvet caught fire at once. "Fire!" Alexei shouted in a voice that did not sound like his own, threw down the candelabrum and started running along the gallery leading to the guest wing. Only once he paused and, turning round, saw Praskovia Pavlovna pulling down the blazing curtain with her skinny hands, emitting frightened cries as she did so. When he heard voices and the thudding of feet at the far end of the gallery, he darted to the nearest window and flattened himself against the wall of the deep niche. Margadon, his robe streaming behind him, and Cagliostro wearing a night cap, a long patterned nightgown and no trousers, ran past him with frightened cries. They disappeared behind the turning in the gallery whence thick smoke came pouring out. And then Alexei dashed to the guest wing, and saw Maria standing in the door opening into the garden. She was fully dressed and had a white shawl draped on her shoulders. Alexei jumped out into the garden from the window in the gallery and ran to her. "Maria, just say the word," he said, folding his hands on his chest. "Wait... If it's no, then it's all up with me... If it's yes, I live, I shall live forever... Tell me-do you love me?" With a small cry, she raised her arms, put them round Alexei's neck, and throwing back her head, looking into his eyes through her tears, said: "I love you." And when she had spoken these words, he came out of the spell, his heart thawed out, the blood ran hotly and noisily in his veins, joyfully he drew in a breath of the scented night's air and of Maria's fragrant young body, cupped her weeping face in his hands and kissed her on the eyes. "Maria, run down this walk to the pond and wait for me in the folly. When you have crossed the little bridge don't forget to give the chain a tug, and it will be raised... You will be perfectly safe there." She nodded to say that she understood, picked up her skirts and started briskly down the path, turning round once to smile at him happily before she vanished in the thick darkness of the trees. Alexei drew his sword then and rushed back into the house. He knocked Fimka off her feet, resolutely pushed away Fedosia Ivanovna who tried to hold on to his arm, elbowed his way through the crowd of frightened servants, and flew into the library. The room was full of smoke. The five candles in the twin candelabrum with their smoking little tongues of flame barely illumined the books scattered all over the floor from the bookcase which had toppled over, Margadon who was stamping the smouldering carpet, and Cagliostro crouching beside an armchair in which sat a cringing creature whose body with protruding dark ribs was barely covered with the tatters of her burnt gown. On seeing Alexei, the creature hissed, leapt to its feet and rushed towards him. He uttered a shout, thrust his sword forward and the creature, with a wail of despair and fury, sprang back from the menacing blade, ran to the back of the room and disappeared behind the book-cases. Cagliostro, now barricaded by the armchair, was making some signs to Margadon, who stopped stamping the carpet and began to steal up to Alexei pulling his dagger out from behind his belt. Alexei, however, forestalling the man's leap, himself made a lunge with the sword in his outstretched arm, and it pierced Margadon's shoulder, buried in his flesh to half its length. Margadon gave a grunt, gasped for air with his open mouth, and' fell on his back. And then Cagliostro threw the armchair at Alexei, and whirled about the room with a nimbleness amazing for his age and his girth, ducking behind various objects and throwing them. Alexei ran about the room after him, trying to hit him with his sword, but Cagliostro managed to slip out into the gallery, from there he jumped out into the garden from the very first open window he came to, and kicking up his bare legs in large leaps made for the ponds. Alexei only caught up with him at the little bridge leading to the folly where Maria's white gown made a pale blur between the columns. With a growl Cagliostro started up the bridge, but coming to the edge, with the other half raised, he flung up his arms and with a heavy splash fell into the water. Maria's faint cry was heard. Moonlit ripples appeared on the water, and a frightened bird flew low over the grass with a lingering whistling call. All was still once more: not a sound was heard either on the pond or in the dark thickets. Alexei stepped on to the bridge and peered down. Suddenly he saw a pair of eyes at the very pile supporting the structure, and these eyes slowly winked. Now he made out Cagliostro's upraised face, bristly skull and ugly ears. "That pile is slippery and you won't be able to climb out anyway," he said to Cagliostro. "And I'm warning you, if you start anything again I'll stab you with my sword. You're a scoundrel. So better sit there quietly, you'll be pulled out just now." Cupping his hands round his mouth he shouted: "Hey, come here someone, here!" Very soon voices were heard in the distance, and people came running-youngsters, servant men and wenches, some armed with pitchforks, some with scythes, and some simply with clubs. All of them had been roused from their beds and were tousled from sleep. Alexei ordered the men to fetch ropes, tie up Cagliostro and pull him out of the water. Three hefty men went down into the water, first taking off their pants and crossing themselves. A tussle started under the bridge between the piles. "Master, he's scratching, damn him," one of he rescuers called out. "Grab him by the jowls and pull him out," men shouted from the bridge. Finally, Cagliostro was tied up with ropes and hauled out. The fight had gone out of him and, with drooping head, teeth chattering from the cold, and wet shirt sticking to his body, he tramped towards the house in the crowd of servants. When everyone had gone, Alexei started calling Maria, first softly, and then in an ever louder voice, more and more tinged with fear. She did not respond. He then ran round the pond, jumped into an old boat he found there and poled himself across to the island. Maria was lying on the wooden floor of the folly. Alexei put his arms round her, raised her up, held close her helplessly drooping head, and kissed her face, all but weeping from love and pity for her. At last he felt her body growing lighter, she raised her head and cushioned it snugly on his chest. And without opening her eyes she whispered: "Do not desert me." The fire was put out. Only the library had suffered: fire and water had ruined a great number of books and things in it, and nothing remained of the canvas on which Praskovia Pavlovna's portrait had been painted. At daybreak, a cart was brought to the front porch, and on the fresh hay it was carpeted with the servants placed the luggage of the guests and then seated Margadon who was in a very bad way: his face was quite ashen, his mouth hung open, and he had two shawls wound round his head. The people crowding round the cart and standing at the porch felt sorry for the poor old chap-he was another servant, after all, he had come to grief through no fault of his own. The dairy woman gave him a baked egg to eat on the way. But then when Cagliostro was brought out of the house, still bound with ropes, wearing his wig, stuck lopsidedly on his head, his hat with the now tousled feathers, and his fur-lined greatcoat flung over his nightgown, the youngsters began to whistle, the women to spit, and Spiridon, a purblind peasant-hatless, barefoot, his coat unbelted-who had bustled more than anyone else all night for the master to notice, sprang at Cagliostro, swung out an arm to give him a good cuff, but was pulled back in time. Cagliostro got into the cart unaided, his bushy eyebrows hooding his eyes. A fat-faced young chap, famed in the village for his strength and his recklessness, jumped cheerfully on to the driver's seat, wound the rope reins round his wrist, the old grey mare pushed her head into the horse-collar, and the cart moved off to the accompaniment of the servants' whistling and whooping. "Fedka," Alexei shouted to the driver from the front porch, "take them straight to Smolensk, and there hand them over to the police." "I sure will!" Fedka shouted back. "I'll hand them over all in one piece, it's not the first time." After her fainting fit in the folly, Maria was barely able to walk back to the house. She was put to bed in the bedroom kept for especially honoured guests. The drapes were drawn across the windows, the bed-curtain was folded back, and she fell asleep. She slept till noon. Fedosia Ivanovna, who came up to the door every now and again, heard her muttering, so she went in and found Maria lying in bed with her eyes closed, bright-red spots on her cheeks, and muttering something without a pause in a low voice. The illness kept her hovering between life and death for a whole month. Alexei almost went out of his mind with fright, and that same day he galloped off to Smolensk to fetch a doctor. On the way back he learnt from this doctor that two foreigners had been brought to the police in a cart; first thing they were arrested, and then despatched on the way to Warsaw with great pomp and ceremony. After examining Maria, the doctor said that it would be one of two things: either the fever would defeat the patient, or the patient would get the better of the fever. Alexei stayed at Maria's bedside all the time now; at night he dozed in an easy chair beside the window; he hardly ate at all, he grew terribly thin-his face became manlier, his eyes limpid, and a white strand appeared in his chestnut hair. Once, towards evening, he was dozing in his easy chair. Through the peach-coloured curtains the sun had stretched its long rays into the room with motes of dust dancing in them, and a sleepy fly was beating against the window-pane. Ungluing his eyelids with an effort, he glanced now at the motes, now at the fly. The clock on the mantelpiece calmly ticked off the minutes of life. And suddenly, through his drowsiness, Alexei became aware of some change in everything, he shifted round in his chair, looked at the bed and saw that Maria's blue eyes were wide open. She was looking at him and wrinkling up her face very comically from amazement and the effort to remember. He fell on his knees beside the bed. "Please tell me where am I and who are you?" she asked. Too overcome to utter a word, Alexei gently took her hand and pressed his lips to it. "I've been watching you dozing for a long time," Maria continued. "You had such a sad face, like someone near and dear to me," she wrinkled up her face again, and gave up trying to remember. "Now, if you opened the window it would be very nice." Alexei pulled apart the curtains, opened the window, and the merry whistling and singing of birds poured into the bedroom together with the warm and scented air. Colour appeared in Maria's cheeks. She listened to the jolly sounds with a smile, and then she heard a late cuckoo calling three times. Tears rose to her eyes. Alexei bent over her and she whispered: "Thank you for everything..." Soon she fell fast asleep and slept for a long time. Her convalescence began, and Alexei could no longer spend the nights in her bedroom. Fedosia Ivanovna alone clearly understood the situation which Maria's recovery had brought about. She and Alexei could not stay apart for a minute, but when they were together neither said a word: Maria brooded, and Alexei frowned, bit his lips, and stood or sat in the most uncomfortable attitudes imaginable. Once his aunt broached the subject with him. "Forgive me for being indiscreet, Alexis, but just what are your plans for Maria? Are you going to send her back to her husband, or what?" Alexei cried furiously: "Maria is no wife to her husband. Her home is here. And if she doesn't want to see me, I can go away, I can join the army and let the bullets find their mark!" His nights were wretched: he had terrible nightmares, they strangled him, they choked the breath out of his body. He got up in the morning feeling all done in and until Maria awakened he wandered sullenly about the house, but the moment he heard her voice his bad mood evaporated, he hurried to her and gazed at her with tortured, sunken eyes. It was August now. Myriads of stars came out and glimmered in the ponds, while the Milky Way appeared as a pale, hazy cloud. The smell of damp leaves came from the garden. Gone were the birds. On one such night, Alexei and Maria were sitting in her bedroom in front of the fireplace, gazing at the little lights that ran up and down the smouldering log. And suddenly, in the semi-darkness, a shadow appeared from the draped alcove at the far end of the room. Startled, Alexei peered hard at the shadow. Maria also raised her head. Slowly, the shadow vanished. A minute of dead silence passed. Maria threw her arms round Alexei, pressed close to him and repeated in a desperate voice: "You're mine... You're mine..." In that minute, all the obstacles to their love-imaginary, complex, and insurmountable-dissipated like smoke, blown away by the wind. There were only lips, pressed to lips, eyes gazing into eyes, the happiness of love, perhaps short-lived, perhaps sad-who could measure it?