Without answering, she felt in the pocket of her dress, and laid before him on the table a little straw box plaited out of coloured blades. It was hardly bigger than a baby's fist. He held it in his hand, and examined it all over attentively. Something rattled inside. "May I open it?" "You needn't ask, _Herr_!" It was a ring of glass beads--blue, white, and yellow, such as a little girl, following the first instincts of vanity, threads for herself. He took it out, and tried to force it on his little finger, but it was far too narrow, and he couldn't get it over his nail. "Did I give you the ring too?" he asked. "No, _Herr_, it belonged to my dear mother. It cut into her flesh once, and that's why I used to wear it day and night till the thread broke. Then she had been dead a long time, and as it was the only keepsake I had of her, I threaded the beads again, and have never parted with the ring, and I always have it on me." "In my little box?" She nodded, and her head drooped. "Why shouldn't I, _Herr_?" she said in a whisper, "it brings me luck." He looked at her with a compassionate smile. "Luck? Brings _you_ luck?" "I'll tell you how, _Herr_," she exclaimed triumphantly. "Every bead you count----" But at that moment he leant back in his chair, and the ring slipped through his fingers on to the floor. Regina started up and hurried round the table to pick it up, but could not find it. "The earth seems to have swallowed it up," she said in alarm, and she dropped on to all fours close by Boleslav's side. He saw the nape of her beautiful neck with its fringe of crisp, dark curls, gleaming near his knee. His heart began to beat, a cold shiver thrilled through his limbs. He stared down on her with a fixed smile. "Here it is!" she exclaimed, and raised herself into a kneeling position to hand him the treasured bauble. He lifted his hand. He felt as if some occult power had lifted it for him, and that it weighed hundreds of pounds. Then with a timid, caressing touch he laid it on her cheek. She drew back trembling. A great light swam in her eyes, that rested on him in dreamy inquiry. His arm sank heavily to his side. "Thank you," he murmured hoarsely. She went back to her place, and there was a profound stillness. It seemed to him that he had committed a crime, and that every moment of silence between them made it worse. He must force himself to speak. "What was I asking you? Ah! to be sure. Who taught you to sew?" She had unthreaded her needle, and was trying hard to pull the cotton through the eye again. But the small glittering shaft oscillated between her unsteady fingers like a reed shaken by the wind.