Krista; and again it seemed to him that if he found her he should cast her from him that he might have her no more with him.
First he came to the parishes in which he had dwelt long since with Krista; and when his old comrades saw him desolate, they asked him where he had left Krista. Then he sometimes answered with a word, sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a tear, just as was consonant with the answer. But through it all it was apparent that each of these modes of reply tormented him; he felt it too, himself, and, therefore, made up his mind not to go to villages where he was known, but only to go among strangers.
In villages where he was not known, indeed, no one enquired for Krista, because no one had known her. But even that was not a clear gain to him, for he observed that he himself also on that very account made fewer enquiries about her. Already he had not enquired about her for many a long day.
Sometimes the whole business of strolling through the villages and of playing to people also wearied him; he was sick of it all; and then if he could find any gay young fellows anywhere he would attach himself to them as long as they wished to listen. By his playing he lured them to the dance, and he played so that anyone who had wished to tarry always beside him would perhaps have been led to destruction. And then although at the
