tacomb, his cheeks
swollen in jeering, puffs his cold breath of the grave on that
man who is calling up the past.

Kranitski wrapped himself closely in his dressing-gown; hung his
head so low that the bald spot, whitening on his crown, became
visible; his lower lip dropped; red furrows came out above his
black brow. Mother Clemens stood in the kitchen doorway.

"Wilt thou eat dinner now?" inquired she.

He made no answer. She withdrew, but returned in half an hour
bringing a cup of black coffee.

"Drink," said she, "perhaps thou wilt grow cheerful, and I will
tell the news from Lipovka."

She pushed a small table to the long chair, sat down with hands
on her knees, and with immense attention in the expression of her
quick and shining eyes, fell to repeating the substance of a
letter just received from her godson, the tenant of Lipovka. He
wrote that he had repaired the dwelling; that he was living
himself in a building outside; that he had put the place in order
most neatly, as if for the arrival of the owner. The furniture
was the same as in the time of the former master; though old, it
was sound yet, and beautiful, because repaired and cleaned. The
garden was larger than of old, for many fruit-trees had been
added. The bees, brought in recently, were thriving. It was quiet
there; calm, green in summer; white in winter; not as in that
cursed city of throngs and shouting--

She laughed.

"And there is no Berek Shyldman there."

Then she added:

"Be at rest about debts. Thou wilt sell thy pipes and cupids, and
if they do not bring enough, I will give all my own things. All
that I have I will give, and I will drag thee out of this hell.
Oh, Arabian adventure! If this lasts longer, thou wilt lose the
last of thy health; thou wilt go deeper in debt, and die in a
hospital. Tulek, dost thou hear what I say? Why not answer?"

And since he made no answer even then, she continued:

"But rememberest thou that Lipovka grove beyond the yard? It is
there yet. Stefan has not cut it down; God forbid! And dost thou
remember how beautifully the sun sets behind that grove?"

When the sun had gone down in the world it began to grow dark in
Kranitski's room. And Mother Clemens continued in the thickening
twilight:

"And rememberest thou how quiet the evenings are there? In
summer, the nightingales sing; in autumn, the bagpipes play; in
winter, God's winds rush outside the wall and roar; but, inside,
it is honest, and qu