not know that the tragic excitement of a single night may be perhaps worth more than a whole existence passed in such torpid apathy as theirs."
To-day there is some festival or other. I have not gone to the office, and have been sitting all the morning at Martha's bedside, who is not to get up until the afternoon. She is as usual always complaining, her sad eyes gazing into mine.
"Janka, I can no longer sleep a wink. Last night it was twelve before I ceased tossing on my pillow. Like a child, I cried myself to sleep at last: and when I woke, it was no later than three o'clock."
She crossed behind her head her lacedecked arms, and looked out into space with infinite wistfulness.
Then she continued in a low voice: "I cannot imagine why my former life in Klosow now comes back to me so very vividly. I remember how sometimes I used to rise early on a winter morning, when it was still dark, and how I dressed by lamplight, shivering with cold, and fighting down my longing to go back to my warm bed. Then I would put
