Gustav had been present at those meetings a few times; but he did not like Karvovski, simply because all liked him. The more difficult his career was, the more clouds obscured the horizon of his love, the more irritable and embittered did he become. Passionate and unsuccessful attachments have this peculiarity, that they develop hatreds just as passionate. Such a hatred not directed to any person or thing yet had occupied Gustav's breast and was resting like rust in it. He hated all who had what he lacked. He felt as if wronged, and for every wrong such natures are accustomed to pay, even though they pay only in theory. He withdrew, therefore, from the society of students, though among them alone existed hearts which could beat for him. He knew this, and in spite of his hatred for all men he loved students; still he shut himself up within his own bosom. Sympathy humiliated him. He suspected the existence of pity in all places, and was afraid of it. Finally, they learned this, that Yosef had promised him not to visit Helena. This information had not come from Yosef, but from Gustav himself; he had told it in a moment of irritation. Naturally this raised Yosef in the opinion of his comrades. Gustav was angry. Between him and Yosef a dark cloud of dislike had intervened. The widow spoke to him of Yosef with greater and greater insistence, with increasing force, with rising passion. A process of ill-omen for Gustav, as Gustav himself thought, took place in her. The deceased Potkanski became more and more incarnate in Yosef; in this new figure Potkanski was dissolved and lost. By degrees, and just through long separation, the enthusiastic heart of Helena remembered Yosef more and more, but now for the sake of himself. A new epoch of resuscitated happiness for the widow, of dying hope for Gustav, emerged gradually, urged on by the rude hand of necessity,--an epoch born of tears, chance, and pain. "I may not, I may not be long in peace!" thought he. "But happen what may, I will not bring him here a second time." Every one will divine easily what was hidden under a reflection of that sort. Gustav judged that he would be able to stifle himself by work,--he was more and more wearied; happy moments he had only in sleep. Once he dreamed that he was at Helena's knees and kissing her hands; he felt distinctly her dear palms on his heart. Then in the dream excitement of passion he found her lips with his lips, and almost suffered from excess of delight. After that came awakening. He saw her daily,--he was so near to her and always so distant. He grew thinner and more emaciated; in his eyes shone feverish gleams of unbending will. That fever exhausted him, but kept him on his feet. "I am curious to know what will come of this," muttered he through his parched lips.