quivered and squirmed, but
continued:

"When we met the first time after parting, the spring season was
around us. You know that we parted only because I had too little
fortune to marry a portionless maiden, and my mother would not
hear of my marrying a governess. Soon after, that rich man
married her. Fiu! fiu! what became of that governess, that girl
more timid than a violet? She became a society lady, full of
life, elegance, style--but springtime breathed around us,
memories of the village, of the flowers, of the fields, of our
earliest, heartfelt emotions. Did she love her husband? Poor,
dear, soul! It seems that at first she was attached to him, but
he left her, neglected her, grasped after millions throughout the
whole world. He was strong, unbending--she was ever alone. Alone
in society! Alone in the house--for the children were small yet,
and she so sensitive and weak, needing friendship and the
fondling of a devoted heart. I fell on my knees in spirit before
her--she felt that. He, when going away, left me near her as an
adviser, a guardian for the time, even a protector, yes, a
pro-tec-tor--the parvenu! the idiot! So wise, yet so stupid--ha!
ha! ha!"

Sneering, vengeful laughter contorted Kranitski's face, the red
spots spread over his brows and covered half of his forehead,
which was drawn now into thick wrinkles.

"Do not vex yourself, Tulek, do not vex yourself, you will be
ill," urged widow Clemens; but once his confessions were begun he
went on with them.

"For a year or more there was nothing between us. We were
friends, but she held me at a distance; she struggled. You,
mother, know if I had success with women--"

"You had, to your eternal ruin, you had!" blurted out widow
Clemens.

"From youth I had the gift of reading; I owe much to it."

"Ei! you owe much to it! What do you owe to it? Your sin against
God, and the waste of your life!" said the widow, ready for a
dispute, but he went on without noting that.

"Once she was weak after a violent attack of neuralgia; it was
late in the evening, the great house was empty and dark, the
children were sleeping--I gave her the attention that a brother
or a mother would give; I was careful; I hid what was happening
within me; I acted as though I were watching over a sick child
which was dear to me. I entertained her with conversation; I
spoke in a low voice; I gave her medicine and confectionery.
Afterward I began to read. More than once she had