She shut the window, and I fancied that she gave Frau Luise a kiss. Gagin handed me the sprig without a word. Without a word I put it in my pocket, went to the ferry, and crossed to the other side. I remember that I went home thinking of nothing definite, but feeling a certain dull ache at my heart, when suddenly a strong odor, well known to me, but not usual in Germany, made me stop puzzled. I stood still and recognized by the roadside a hemp field of moderate size, whose smell reminded me at once of my native steppes. A mighty homesickness arose in me. I had a longing to feel Russian air blowing on my cheeks, to have Russian ground beneath my feet. "What am I doing here? Why am I wandering about among strangers in a strange land?" I cried aloud, and the vague uneasiness that weighed on my spirits changed suddenly to a bitter burning pain. I reached the house in a mood entirely different from the one of the preceding day. I was strangely excited. I could not compose myself. A feeling of vexation which I could not explain to myself possessed me. At last I sat down to think of my faithless widow (for I devoted the close of every day to official recollections of this lady), and I took out one of her letters. But this time I did not even open it. My thoughts had taken another turn; I thought--of Assja. I remembered that Gagin, in the course of conversation, had spoken of certain obstacles which would make his return to Russia very difficult. "Is she then really his sister?" I cried aloud. I undressed myself, went to bed, and tried to sleep; but an hour afterward I was sitting up with my elbow on the pillow, and still thinking of the "capricious maid with her affected laugh." "She has a form like the little Galatea of Raphael in the Farnese," I said to myself. "Yes, and she is not his sister." Meanwhile the widow's letter lay quietly on the floor, bleached by a moonbeam. * * * * *