"I will go again, and as often as I can," says Hela. "Let us go together; maybe we can go to-day? It was so agreeable to me not only to look at that picture, but to think that such power appeared among us." And people do not glorify that woman! Then I hear further,-- "It is a pity that such strange things are told of that Magorski. I confess that I am dying of curiosity to know him." "Ah!" says Eva, carelessly. "Thou knowest him, I suppose?" "I can assure thee that he loses much on closer acquaintance; presumptuous, vain, oh, how vain!" I have such a desire to show Eva my tongue that I can barely restrain myself; she turns her roguish violet eyes toward me, and says,-- "Somehow thou hast lost appetite, grandfather?" I'll show her my tongue; I can't restrain myself! But she spoke again to Hela,-- "Yes, Magorski is much worthier of admiration than of acquaintance. Ostrynski has described him as a genius in the body of a 'barber.'" I should cut off Ostrynski's ears if he had said anything similar; I knew that Eva has the devil at her collar; but in truth she is exceeding the measure. Fortunately, breakfast comes to an end. We go out to the grounds, where I am to give my songs. This annoys me somewhat, and I should rather be with Hela as a painter than a minstrel. But it is hard to escape! I sit at the wall in the shade of chestnut-trees, through the leaves of which the sun penetrates, forming on the ground a multitude of bright spots. Those spots quiver and twinkle, vanish and shine out anew, just as the leaves move. The garden is very deep, so the sound of the city barely reaches it, especially since it is dulled by the noise of fountains in the garden. The heat is great. Among the thick leaves, the twittering of sparrows is heard; but it is faint and, as it were, drowsy. At last there is silence. I see that a perfectly harmonious picture is forming: A garden, a background of trees, spots of sunlight, fountains, those two women with uncommonly beautiful faces one of them leaning against the other; and I see an old minstrel sitting with a lyre at the wall,--all this has its own charm which affects me as a painter. Meanwhile I remember my rôle, and begin to sing with feeling,-- "People say that I am happy; I laugh at their saying, For they know not how often I am covered with tears! "I was born in misfortune, In misfortune I perish. Why didst bear me, O mother, In that evil hour?" Eva is affected, for she is an artist; Hela because she is from the Ukraine; and I--because both are so beautiful that the sight of them enchants me. Hela listens without exaggerated attention, without false enthusiasm; but in her transparent eyes I see that the listening gives her pure, genuine pleasure.