"My dear Yosef, that is the one thing that I brought to the world with me. Thou wilt not believe how sadly the years of my childhood passed. Thou knowest not my history. I was reared in a wealthy family, where the master of the house treated me as his own daughter. After his death I was tormented in that house with every rudeness, till at last I fled and came to Kieff, where an old and very kind man took me into his care. He called me Helusiu always, and petted me as if I had been his own daughter. But afterward he too died, without leaving me means of living. Then I made the acquaintance of Kazimir. Thou wilt wonder how I went to a students' club? I lacked little of dying from shame, I assure thee, when I entered the first time; but wilt thou believe? I was hungry. I had put nothing in my mouth for two days. I was chilled through, I knew not what I was doing, and what it would lead to. "Then Kazimir approached me. Oh! he did not please me that time. He laughed and was glad, but it grew dark in my eyes. He asked at last if I would go with him. I answered 'Yes.' On the road he put a warm fur around me, for I was shivering from cold, and finally he took me to his lodgings. There, when warmth had restored presence of mind to me, I saw where I was, and I wept from disgrace and shame. For, seest thou, I was alone in the lodgings of a man, I was in his power. He seemed to be astonished at my weeping; then he was silent and sat near me, and when again I looked at him he had tears in his eyes, and was different entirely. He kissed my hands and begged me to calm myself. "I had to tell him everything, everything. He promised to think of me as a sister. How good he was, was he not? From that moment of knowing him I knew no more of want. At parting he kissed my hand again. I wished to kiss his, my heart was straitened, I pressed it with my hands and wept real tears. Oh! how I loved him then! how I loved him!" Helena raised her eyes, in those eyes gleamed great tears of gratitude. She was as beautiful as if inspired. Yosef's expression, however, was severe; his brows had come together on his forehead. The thought that he owed that woman's love to empty chance, to a vain resemblance, covered his face with a gloomy shadow. Potkanski had gone to her by another road. That comparison pained Yosef. He recalled Augustinovich's words, and conducted Helena farther in silence. They reached the cemetery. Among the trees were white crosses, stones, and tombs. The city of the dead in the shade of green leaves slept in silent dignity. A number of persons were strolling among the crosses; among the branches a bird from time to time sang half sadly, half charmingly. The figure of the cemetery guard pushed past at intervals.