The lamp has long been lighted; indeed, for days together it is not extinguished. At the least current of air the windows are closely curtained, and three or four days may pass before daylight is again admitted. It matters little to the owner of the apartment whether it be day or night; she neither rises nor goes to bed. She lives in her arm-chair. If she is sleepy, she goes to sleep; when she awakes she is ready for her food, and with good appetite. Every Sunday her maid washes and dresses her, and that function lasts for the week. When the bells of the Isaac Cathedral begin their midnight peal she knows that Sunday has come round again; when her newspaper is brought to her she knows that it must be Friday. Sometimes the two, Ihnasko and she, quarrel about politics. Just now there are strained relations between mistress and man. A paragraph in the newspaper has stated that "the heroic George Csernyi has taken the fortress of Belgrade from the Turks." The mistress chooses to understand by this that Csernyi had stormed the fortress and massacred the unbelievers; the man, on the contrary, takes it literally, that he had bought the fortress from the Turks for sterling cash. Over this they quarrel hotly. "When Ivan comes, he shall decide it; and if you are right, you shall have a brand-new coat trimmed with fox; if I am right, you shall get five-and-twenty lashes with this rod from my own hands!" From her hands, who had not the strength to kill a fly! But the old woman is vindictive, and has already, for the third time, ordered him to lay out the new coat and the courbash on two chairs, so that the instant Ivan comes he shall get either the one or the other. And yet she forgets all about her anger, Belgrade, and George Csernyi the moment "Boysie" appears on the scene. He comes in so gently at the tapestried door that she only perceives him when he stands before her. Her Boysie is the handsomest man in the whole capital; he is as tall as the Czar. His languishing gray eyes wear an earnest, thoughtful expression. "Now, you bad boy--to come so late! Is school but just over? Are you not afraid that I shall make you kneel to ask my pardon?" He is already kneeling before her; and the old grandmother passes her thin, wrinkled hand over his face as he bows his head on her lap. Laughing, she playfully ruffles his hair. "This naughty Boysie! He knows how to coax his old grandmother, like any kitten. All right; you shall have no blows this time. I forgive you; so no need to cry. He has just the same shaped head as my Maximilian; only Maximilian loves me best, for he writes to me every month; and yet he is a great man. At your age two orders of merit already decorated his breast. But what have you done? Have you fought yet for the honor of your country? Are you following in your father's footsteps?"