o'clock. Kovrin put out the light and lay down to
sleep, lay for a long time with his eyes closed, but could not get
to sleep because, as he fancied, the room was very hot and Tanya
talked in her sleep. At half-past four he lighted the candle again,
and this time he saw the black monk sitting in an arm-chair near
the bed.

"Good-morning," said the monk, and after a brief pause he asked:
"What are you thinking of now?"

"Of fame," answered Kovrin. "In the French novel I have just been
reading, there is a description of a young _savant_, who does silly
things and pines away through worrying about fame. I can't understand
such anxiety."

"Because you are wise. Your attitude towards fame is one of
indifference, as towards a toy which no longer interests you."

"Yes, that is true."

"Renown does not allure you now. What is there flattering, amusing,
or edifying in their carving your name on a tombstone, then time
rubbing off the inscription together with the gilding? Moreover,
happily there are too many of you for the weak memory of mankind
to be able to retain your names."

"Of course," assented Kovrin. "Besides, why should they be remembered?
But let us talk of something else. Of happiness, for instance. What
is happiness?"

When the clock struck five, he was sitting on the bed, dangling his
feet to the carpet, talking to the monk:

"In ancient times a happy man grew at last frightened of his happiness
--it was so great!--and to propitiate the gods he brought as a
sacrifice his favourite ring. Do you know, I, too, like Polykrates,
begin to be uneasy of my happiness. It seems strange to me that
from morning to night I feel nothing but joy; it fills my whole
being and smothers all other feelings. I don't know what sadness,
grief, or boredom is. Here I am not asleep; I suffer from sleeplessness,
but I am not dull. I say it in earnest; I begin to feel perplexed."

"But why?" the monk asked in wonder. "Is joy a supernatural feeling?
Ought it not to be the normal state of man? The more highly a man
is developed on the intellectual and moral side, the more independent
he is, the more pleasure life gives him. Socrates, Diogenes, and
Marcus Aurelius, were joyful, not sorrowful. And the Apostle tells
us: 'Rejoice continually'; 'Rejoice and be glad.'"

"But will the gods be suddenly wrathful?" Kovrin jested; and he
laughed. "If they take from me comfort and make me go cold and
hungry, it won't be very much to my taste."