The road, muddy with recent rains, plashed under the horses' hoofs and a cold evening wind crinkled the winter wheat. A yellow sheen hiding the poverty-stricken sun glimmered behind the ragged birch boughs. Everything looked sad and weary. It even seemed a vain task to have sowed the winter wheat. They trotted on side by side in silence--a long, long series of anxious moments. "He must speak some time," thought Lilly, biting her tongue till it bled. He kept his eyes fixed undeviatingly upon the road ahead, making only slight movements of his right hand from time to time to adjust his reins. "He'll call me 'my lady' again," she thought, and felt ashamed in advance for both of them. Finally she took heart and spoke to him. "Do walk your horse," she said, almost crying. "Of course, comrade," he replied, and reined in his chestnut. "Comrade! Comrade!" she burst out, and passionately searched his eyes with hers. He shrugged his shoulders, as always when he feared a scolding, and said nothing. "Say something, won't you?" she screamed, quite beside herself. "What should I say?" he queried, making a little gesture, as if to scratch his head. "It's a nasty business. We know it." And muttering to himself, he repeated, "Nasty business, nasty business!" "Is that all you have to say to me?" she cried. "My dear friend," he replied, "I am small, my heart is small. It's not a suitable spot for harbouring great anguish of the soul." "Pshaw, who's speaking of anguish of the soul? But what's to become of us, that's what I should like to know." "As soon as I come into possession of an unencumbered manorial estate," he replied with a gesture of invitation, "a castle, stables, vehicles and other animate and inanimate things thereunto appertaining, I shall take the liberty of applying to your husband for your hand." This completely robbed Lilly of her self-control. "If you keep on making such jokes," she screamed, bursting into tears, "I'll ride to death, now, before your very eyes." "A difficult thing to do with that well-behaved nag of yours." Lilly was at her wits' end and simply let the tears course down her cheeks in silence. At last he changed his tone. "Well, well, child," he said, "be sensible for a change. All I want to do is tickle the superfluous tragedy out of your soul. And as soon as you make a glad face again I'll try to give the matter most serious consideration." Lilly wiped her tears away with the flap of her riding gauntlet and smiled at him obediently.