But to accept a rival's sacrifice is for a soul rich in pride to place one's own "I" under the feet of some other man morally; it is to receive small coppers of alms thrust hastily into a hand which had not been stretched forth for anything. Pride prefers to be a creditor rather than a debtor. Therefore Gustav when on the street twisted his mouth in bitter irony, and muttered through his pressed lips. Better and better. Favor, favor! Bow down now to Pan Yosef daily, and thank him. A pleasant life for thee, Gustav! And he fell into bitter, deep meditation. He ceased even to think of himself, he was merely dreaming painfully. He felt a kind of gloomy echo in his soul, while striving to summon up the remembrance of even one happy moment. That echo sounded in him like a broken chord. The mind and soul in the man were divided. One tortured half cried hurriedly for rest; the other half, energetic and gloomy, strove toward life yet. One half of his mind saw light and an object; the other turned moodily toward night and nothingness. To finish all, there was something besides in this sorrowing man which made sport of its own suffering; something like a malicious demon which with one hand indicated his own figure to him, pale, ugly, bent, and pointed out with the other, as it were in the clouds in the brightness of morning, Helena Potkanski, in marble repose, in splendid beauty. Torn apart with the tumult of this internal battle, he went forward alone, almost without knowing whither. Suddenly he heard behind a well-known voice singing in bass the glad song:-- "Hop! hop! hop! hop! And the horseshoe firmly fastened." He looked around--it was Vasilkevich and Augustinovich. "Whither art thou hastening, Gustav?" asked the first. "I? Ha! whither--" He looked at his watch. "It is too early to visit Pani Helena. I am going at present to the club." "Well, go straight to the widow." "What? Why?" "Woe!" exclaimed Augustinovich, raising his hand toward heaven; and without noticing passers-by, he fell to declaiming loudly:-- "The castle where joyousness sounded Is shrouded in mourning to-day; On its wall the wild weeds are growing, At its gate the faithful dog howls." "Thou hast no reason to visit the club," added Vasilkevich. "What has happened?" "Gloom is there now incubating a tempest," replied Augustinovich. "But say what has happened." "Misfortune." "Of what sort?" "Ghastly!" "Vasilkevich, speak in human fashion!" "The University government has closed our club. Some one declared that students assemble there." "When did this happen?" "Two hours since." "We must go there and learn on the spot." "I do not advise thee to do so. They will put thee in prison." "They will bind thy white palms with a rope--" "Augustinovich, be quiet! Why did they not do this in the evening? They might have caught us all like fish in a net."