Magnetism,—but enough of grey theories.) So the two were discoursing quite vivaciously and laughing.
What beautiful themes they touched upon! Whitsuntide pilgrimages and our country people, fireworks on the Moldau River, the gay life in the streets, and so forth, and so forth,—themes that have interested many people, even of finer mettle than my hero.
The parlor grew more noisy. The guests sat at the tables drinking wine and soda-water. Here, near the table of my hero, Mr. Plojhar knitted his beautiful brow as he started his third cigarette, and then somehow grew pale. There Mr. Brouček related his endless travels, until a lithesome maiden closed his lips with her hand; there Verunský, a dissipated sculptor, bent his head upon the table, while his friend, la Vie, kept on dinning into his ears poisonous maxims. Farther away Mr. Klement (I do not know his surname) sat alone in a cor-
