"Mlle. Ioulka may possibly embody that phenomenon; but I do not know if she has any blood in her veins.... She has no heart.... She is as white and as cold as snow!" He rose and walked round the room some time without speaking, as though to hide his emotion; then, stopping suddenly-- "Pardon me," he said, "we were talking, I believe, of folk-poetry...." "We were, Your Excellency." "After all it must be admitted that she translated Miçkiewicz very prettily.... 'Frolicsome as a kitten,... white as cream,... eyes like stars,' ... that is her own portrait, do you not agree?" "Absolutely, Your Excellency." "With reference to this roguish trick ... a very ill-judged one, to be sure,... the poor child is bored to death by an old aunt. She leads the life of a nun." "At Wilno she went into society. I saw her at the ball given by the officers of the--regiment." "Ah, yes! the society of young officers suits her exactly. To laugh with one, to backbite with another, and to flirt with all of them.... Will you come and see my father's library, Professor?" I followed him to a long gallery, lined with many handsomely bound books, which, to judge from the dust which covered their edges, were rarely opened. What was my delight to find that one of the first volumes I pulled out of a glass case was the _Catechismus Samogiticus_! I could not help uttering a cry of pleasure. It seemed as though some mysterious power were exerting its influence unknown to us.... The Count took the book, and, after he had turned over the leaves carelessly, wrote on the fly-leaf: "_To Professor Wittembach, from Michael Szémioth_." I did not know how to express my great gratitude, and I made a mental resolution that after my death this precious book should be the ornament of my own University library. "If you like to consider this library your workroom," said the Count, "you shall never be disturbed here." III After breakfast the following day the Count proposed that I should take a walk with him. The object in view was to visit a _kapas_ (the name given by the Lithuanians to tumuli, called by the Russians _kourgâne_), a very noted one in that country, because formerly poets and magicians (they are one and the same thing) gathered there on certain special occasions. "I have a very quiet horse to offer you," he said. "I regret that I cannot take you by carriage, but, upon my word, the road we go by is not fit for carriages." I would rather have stopped in the library taking my notes, but I could not express any wish contrary to that of my generous host, and I accepted. The horses were waiting for us at the foot of the steps in the courtyard, where a groom held a dog in leash. "Do you know much about dogs, Professor?" said the Count, stopping for a minute and turning to me. "Hardly anything, Your Excellency."