I sketched for two evenings; then they posed for me two months in the studio. Let Antek say what he pleases, the picture is good, for there is nothing cold in it; it has pure truth and a tremendous lot of nature. I left even the freckles on the young Jewess. The faces might be more beautiful; but they could not be truer or have greater character. I thought so much of this picture that I bore the loss of Kazia more easily. When Antek reminded me of her, the subject seemed one of long ago. Meanwhile, my comrade pulled on his other boot, and I heated the samovar. Old Antonia came with cakes; Antek had been persuading this woman in vain for a year to hang herself. We sat down to tea. "Why art thou so glad?" asked Antek, peevishly. "Because I know that thou wilt see something of uncommon interest to-day." At this moment we hear steps approaching the studio. "Thy house-owner! There is thy 'something uncommon'!" Saying this, Antek gulps down his tea, which is so hot that tears fill his eyes. Up he springs; and since our little kitchen is in the passage, he hides in the studio behind the costumes, and from his hiding-place cries, with a panting voice,-- "Thou! he loves thee immensely, talk thou to him." "He is dying for thee!" answer I, flying to the costumes, "talk thou to him!" Meanwhile the door opens, and who comes in? Not the house-owner, but the watchman of the house in which the Suslovskis are living. We rush out from behind the costumes. "I have a letter for you," says the watchman. I take the letter. By Hermes! it is from Kazia! I tear open the envelope, and read as follows,-- I am certain that my parents will forgive us. Come at once; never mind the early hour. We have just returned from the waters in the garden. KAZIA. I have no idea what the parents really have to forgive me, but neither have I time to think of it, for I am losing my head from amazement. Only after a while do I give the letter to Antek, and say to the watchman,-- "Friend, tell the young lady that I will come right away--wait, I have no small money, but here are three rubles [all I have] change the bill, take a ruble for yourself, and bring me the rest." Speaking in parenthesis, the monster took the three rubles, and did not show himself again. He knew, the abortion, that I would not raise a scandal at Suslovski's, and took advantage of the position most dishonorably. But at the time I didn't even notice it. "Well, Antek, what?" ask I. "Nothing! Every calf will find its butcher." The haste with which I was dressing did not permit me to find an answer befitting this insult from Antek. CHAPTER II.