tropics; and yourself must blossom into a flame-red and purple rose."
And I make answer: "My lord, without the light of the sun, how is any rose to blow?"
Once more a thunderclap resounds. He is gone. I am all alone amid my ice-plains: and I live yet.
Bound I am, with fetters made of ice. The silvery wings of my soul are glittering under the canopy of heaven, and in the greenish splendour of the Northern Lights. She would not share with me my years of burning heat, and now she will not have me share this realm of hers. A snake is lying on my bosom, and, coiled about my neck, sucks the warm blood thence. …
We bid good-night to Obojanski, and go out into the street together.
"I have to tell you something; or, rather, I have one question, only one, to put to you." These are my first words.
"I am quite at your service."
From the instant when I begin to speak, the sense of dread passes away from me, and an immense quietude takes its place.
"I must, however, lay down one condition. I will have from you no other answer save
