"See," answered she, confused, "the wind is shaking the blossoms from the cherry-trees." "Let it take them," said I, "if only thou wilt stay with me." And I bent her head toward mine; but she whispered with closed eyes,-- "Do not look at me; go away--" But at the same time her lips pushed toward me almost passionately, and I met them with delight. The breeze began really to cast white blossoms on our heads. * * * * * I woke and saw the naked walls of my room. I had had typhus,--and a very bad typhus; I had lain two weeks unconscious in fever. But even a fever is sometimes the mercy of God. When I regained consciousness I learned that Panna Antonina's parents had taken her to Venice. But I, lonely as before, finish my confession, which is strange, perhaps. I was so immensely happy in my visions that I wrote them down at once, so that life's irony might not be lost. I conclude the above reminiscences without sorrow, and with my former faith, that among all sources of happiness, that from which I drank during the fever is the clearest and best. A life which love has not visited, even in a dream, is worse than mine. CHARCOAL SKETCHES. CHAPTER I. IN WHICH WE MAKE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF THE HEROES, AND BEGIN TO HOPE THAT SOMETHING WILL FOLLOW. In Barania-Glova, in the chancery of the village-mayor, it was as calm as in time of sowing poppy-seed. The mayor, a peasant no longer young, whose name was Frantsishek Burak, was sitting at the table, and scribbling something on paper with strained attention; the secretary of the Commune, Pan Zolzik, young and full of hope, was standing at the window defending himself from flies. There were as many flies in the chancery as in a cowhouse. All the walls were spotted from them, and had lost their original color. Spotted in like manner were the glass on the image hanging over the table, the paper, the seal, the crucifix, and the mayor's official books. The flies lighted on the mayor too, as on an ordinary councilman; but they were attracted particularly by Pan Zolzik's head, which was pomaded, and also perfumed with violet. Over his head a whole swarm was circling; they sat at the parting of his hair and formed black, living, movable spots. Pan Zolzik from time to time raised his hand warily, and then brought it down quickly on his head; the slap of his palm was heard, the swarm flew upward, buzzing, and Pan Zolzik, seizing his hair, picked out the corpses and threw them on the floor. The hour was four in the afternoon. Silence reigned in the whole village, for the people were at work in the fields; but outside the chancery window a cow was scratching herself against the wall, and at times she showed her puffing nostrils through the window, with saliva hanging from her muzzle. At moments she threw her heavy head against her back to drive away flies; at moments she grazed the wall with her horn; then Pan Zolzik looked out through the window, and cried,--