cloudlets hung lightly in the azure heavens. . . .
She walked, and walked. . . . Her shadow fell obliquely before her over the dusty road, and the telegraph poles, the young trees, the heaps of gravel, the fields,—the whole broad country slowly receded behind her and melted away. . . .
She stopped but once. It was where the old lady had grasped her hand and had said: “We are at home now.”
She looked about her: two round red towers rose above the horizon. Their gilt cupolas glittered in the blue sky like two stars. . . .
And again she walked. . . . There lay everything. . . . There life would flow on steadily, as to-day, so to-morrow. . . . Jiří would soon marry, and the old lady would find some reparation. . . . The dead man would decay in the peace of the black earth . . . to-morrow his mother would go to the
