had been conversing. Some one remarked that Lucy had disappeared. Laughter. Questions rained down on Jiří. Just then a better sentiment took possession of him, just as if the glance of those blue eyes were resting upon him, and the maiden seemed to him purer, higher, better than all the company around him. He told them the truth. He spoke with fervor and conviction, from the depth of his soul. There was a burst of Homeric laughter. Sly Jiří! What a mantle! How cunningly he had done it all! He had taken her under his roof, had given her at home his simpleminded old aunt for a Cerberus, to whom he ranted of the penitent Magdalen with her untainted soul, in order to revel secretly in her beautiful, youthful body! What a sly fellow! What a sly fellow!
Jiří gave his word of honor that he spoke the truth. He was answered with renewed laughter. His blood boiled: he called them rascally good-for-nothings, fools, and people
