tuneless, wordless, and not unlike that broken croaking which frogs utter. And again and again she would say:
"Little son of mine, my only one, my beautiful one!"
And then, sitting down to tea again, she spoke in a most interesting way about one of the books she had recently translated. It was from the English—essays on Economics.
"Joseph encourages me to write something as well; but for that one must have one's mind more at ease."
Then, with a tender look that she cast on her husband:
"I think," she said, "that Joseph will soon be better in our climate; when he was sent away from Poland, he was in perfect health. Do you remember how he looked in those days?"
"Certainly I do; very well indeed."
And I proceeded to tell her of the expeditions we both used to make to Obojanski's.
"But," I observed, "you have worked a miracle; he was always absolutely insensible to the charms of womankind." This I said out of kindness, fearing lest I might otherwise give occasion to thoughts of jealousy and suspicion.
