He is simply a sick bird, in a continual fever,--a bird which at times vanishes from the eye beneath the clouds, and at times drags its wearied wings in the dust and the mire. Art gives him a disgust for dust and mire; but life takes strength of flight from him. Hence that discord which is so frequent between the external and the internal life of artists. The world, when it asks more from artists than from others, and when it condemns them, is right perhaps; but Christ, too, will be right when He saves them. Ostrynski maintains, it is true, that actors belong to the artistic world as much as clarionets and French horns belong to it. But that is not true; the best proof is Eva Adami, who is a thorough artist, both by gifts and that feeling which has preserved her from evil as a mother would. In spite of all the friendship which I have for Eva, I had not seen her for a long time; when she saw me then, she was very glad, though she had a certain astonished look, which I could not explain. "How art thou, Vladzio?"[20] asked she. "For a wonder I see thee." [20] A form of endearment for Vladek or Vladislav. I was delighted to find her. She wore a Turkish morning gown with split sleeves; it had red palm-leaves on a cream-colored ground, and was bordered with wide embroidery in old gold. The rich embroidery was reflected with special beauty in her pale face and violet eyes. I told her so, and she was greatly pleased. I came to the point then at once. "My golden diva! thou knowest Pani Kolchanovski, that wonderful lady of the Ukraine?" "I do; she was my schoolmate." "Take me to her." Eva shook her head. "My golden, my good one, as thou lovest me!" "No, Vladek, I will not take thee!" "See how bad thou art; but at one time I was almost in love with thee." What a mimosa that Eva is! When she hears this, she changes, puts her elbow on the table (a miracle, not an elbow), puts her pale face on her palm and asks,-- "When was that?" I was in a hurry to speak of Helena; but since on a time I had in truth almost fallen in love with Eva, and since I wish now to bring her into good humor, I begin the narrative,-- "We were going once, after the theatre, to the botanical garden. Dost thou remember what a wonderful night that was? We were sitting on a bench near the fountain; thou hadst just said, 'I should like to hear a nightingale.' I was sad for some reason, and took off my cap, for my head was aching; and thou, going to the fountain, moistened a handkerchief, and put it on my forehead with thy hand. Thou didst seem simply as good as an angel, and I thought to myself: If I take that hand and put my lips to it, all will be over! I shall be in love to the death." "And then what?" asks Eva, in an undertone. "Thou didst step aside quickly, as if divining something." Eva sat a while in thought, then woke from it and said with nervous haste, "Let us not speak of this matter, I pray thee."