"You wish to expel him," said he, at a very stormy meeting. "You wish to expel him? But do you think that after he has left the University he will not bring shame to you? What will he do with himself? Where will he go? How will he find means of living? How will he maintain himself? And do you know why he fell? No!--Ask him when he has eaten a dinner. We are among ourselves. Raise either of his feet, the right or the left, all the same! If under his boots you find one sound sole, expel him. As to me I declare, and may the thunderbolts split any one who will say otherwise, that we ought to save, not to ruin him. Give him salvation, give him bread--take him on your own responsibility!" "Who will answer for him?" asked one of Augustinovich's opponents. "I!" shouted Yosef in a thundering voice; and he threw his cap on the floor. There was uproar and confusion in the room. Vasilkevich supported Yosef with all his influence, others insisted on his expulsion, there was no "small uproar." Yosef sprang onto a bench, and turning to Augustinovich shouted,-- "They forgive thee! Come with me." He left the room, rubbing his hands with internal delight, and cried,-- "It would be a pity to lose such a head! Besides, let them eat the devil if they act without me now!" "Why didst thou save me?" inquired Augustinovich. Yosef turned a severe face toward him and said,-- "To-day thou wilt move into my lodgings." Meanwhile another drama was played in Pani Helena's lodgings. She was a most peculiar person; she could not exist, she knew not how to exist, without attaching her life to some feeling. Her first chance had been fortunate; she proved a model wife and mother. It had seemed to her that she found salvation in Yosef, and now months had passed since she had seen him; and she desired him the more, the more persistently Gustav resisted. The last struggle of these directly opposing forces had to come. "If thou wilt not return him to me," said the widow in tears, one evening, "I will go myself to find him. I am ready to kneel down before thee and beg on my knees for him, Gustav! Thou sayest that Kazimir begged thee to have care over me; so I implore thee in his name. O God, O God! Thou dost not understand that it is possible to suffer; thou hast never loved, of course." "I, Pani! have never loved?" repeated Gustav, in a very low voice; and in his eyes real pain was evident. "Perhaps thou art speaking the truth. Then thou hast observed nothing, hast seen nothing? I know not myself that I have loved any one except--O God, what do I utter!--except thee alone." He threw himself at Helena's feet. Great silence followed. One might have said that the two persons had become stone,--she bent backward, with her hands over her face, he at her feet. They continued in this posture, both oblivious of everything around them. But a moment comes when the greatest pain is conquered.