's, provided it were
good and of a large calibre. The old man picked out the weapon, which
I accepted at once.

"You will want cartridges, sir?"

"Yes, I was going to ask you for them."

"And a case, sir?" he said, looking at me keenly.

"Of course, a case."

"That's all right, sir; then I will give you cartridges of the same
number as the revolver."

It was now my turn to look attentively at him. He understood the
inquiring look, and said:--

"I have been in the trade over forty years, sir, and learned something
about my customers. It often happens that people buy revolvers to blow
out their brains. Would you believe it never happens that such a one
buys a case? It is always this way: 'Please give me a revolver.' 'With
the case?' 'No, never mind the case.' It is a strange thing that a man
about to throw away his life should grudge a rouble for the case. But
such is human nature. Everybody says to himself, 'What the devil do
I want with a case?' And that's how I always find out whether a man
means mischief or not."

"That is very curious indeed," I replied; and it seemed to me a very
characteristic sign.

The gunsmith, with a slight twinkle in his eye, went on: "Therefore as
soon as I perceive his drift I make a point of giving him cartridges a
size too large. It is not a small thing, the taking away one's life;
it requires a deal of courage and determination. I fancy many a man
breaks into a cold perspiration as he finally says: 'Now for the
revolver! Ah, the cartridges do not fit; the gunsmith made a mistake;'
and he has to put it off until the following day. And do you think,
sir, it is an easy thing to do it twice over? Many a man who has faced
death once cannot do it again. There were some who came the next day
to buy a case. I laughed in my sleeve and said: 'There's your case,
and may it last you a long time.'"

I note down this conversation because everything relating to suicide
has become of interest to me, and the old gunsmith's words appeared to
contain a bit of philosophy worth preserving.

27 June.

Now and then I remind myself that Aniela loved me, that I could have
married her, that my life might have been made bright and happy, that
it merely depended upon me, and that I wasted all that through my
incapacity for action. Then I put to myself the question: "Is there
any sign of insanity in me, and is it indeed true that I could have
had Aniela forever?" It must be true, for how could I ot