Both sisters had slept badly that night. Elisaveta was worn out by nightmares, while Elena woke several times and went to her. Both felt the sweet after-dizziness of sleep suddenly cut short by the Dragon’s sickles. Their memories pursued one another in a confused, vivid flock. They began to recall the circumstances of yesterday’s visit. A secret agitation, akin to shame, stole over them. Little by little they conquered this feeling during the day. Alone again, they discussed what they had seen at Trirodov’s. A strange forgetfulness came upon them. The details of the visit grew more vague the more they tried to recall them. They found themselves in constant disagreement, and corrected one another. It might have been a dream. Now it seemed one, now the other. Was it reality or a dream? Where is the border-line? Whether life be a sweet or a bitter dream, it passes by like a swift vision! Three days passed by. Again the day was quiet and clear, again the high Dragon smiled his malignant, excessively bright smile. He counted, as he rose, his livid seconds, his flaming minutes; and he let fall upon the earth, with a scarcely perceptible echo, his lead-heavy but transparent hours. It was three o’clock in the afternoon; they had just finished luncheon. The Rameyevs and the Matovs were at home. Again Elisaveta wrangled with Piotr and, as before, the discussion was long, heated and discordant--every one left the table flustered and depressed; the hopeless confusion of it all deeply affected even the usually composed Miss Harrison. The sisters were left by themselves. They went out on the lower balcony and pretended to read. They appeared to be waiting for something. This waiting made their hearts beat fast under their heaving breasts. Elisaveta, letting the book fall upon her knees, was the first to break the heavy silence. “I think he is coming to-day.” The breeze blew at that moment, there was a rustle in the foliage and a little bird suddenly began to chirp away somewhere--and it seemed as if the depressed garden were glad because of these lively, resonant, quickly uttered words. “Who?” asked Elena. The insincerity of her question made her flush quite suddenly. She knew very well whom Elisaveta meant. The latter glanced at her and said: “Trirodov, of course. It is strange that we should be waiting for him.” “I think he promised to come,” said Elena indecisively. “Yes,” answered Elisaveta, “I think he said something at that strange mirror.” “It was earlier,” observed Elena. “Yes, I am mixing it all up,” said Elisaveta. “I don’t understand how I could forget so quickly.” “I too am tangling things up badly,” confessed Elena, astonished at herself. “I feel very tired, I don’t know why.”