ly. As
if to calm himself he patted his horse's neck and, drawing a tight
rein, drew himself up in his saddle. The road again led through a
clearing in the forest; the valley below was bathed in golden sunshine.
Suddenly it occurred to him: "There are so many miserable beings whose
constant care is how to manage to keep alive. Why can't one purchase
their vital power and, adding their years to his own, live forever? The
masses, stupid as they are, are right when they consider us as no
better than themselves, for we must die of the same diseases they are
subject to.--Here, all is life; tree and beast and man. There, in the
castle, lies a man whose end is drawing near, and who may be dying at
this very moment. Perhaps even now, the air is wafting his last breath
toward me--Where is it? Why does not a shudder pass through all that
belongs to him? through every tree, and man, and beast? All that lived
with him should die with him, for it is his. This wretched, miserable
life--"

"I'm a poor woman, give me something," said a figure, suddenly emerging
from the thicket. It was Zenza.

Bruno started as if a ghost had appeared to him. He put spurs to his
horse and hurried off. His hair stood on end with fright, and it was
long before he regained his composure.

In spite of this interruption, and without an effort on his part, his
thoughts went back to the subject that engaged them at the moment when
Zenza appeared upon the scene; but the old woman's cry of: "Give me
something," was ever ringing in his ears. If everything were to die
with its possessor, who would inherit? What is more peculiarly a man's
own than his thoughts? And even they die with him--

"I won't think any more," said Bruno to himself. "Not now;
to-morrow--the day after--some other time; but now I don't want to
think."

He raised his hat, as if to permit his thoughts to escape; then he
whipped and spurred his horse so that it reared and started off at a
furious pace. The effort to maintain himself in his saddle drove what
he regarded as gloomy fancies from his mind. He sat firmly, pressed his
knees against the horse's ribs, and felt the better for the exertion.
But, in spite of all, his thoughts would suddenly wander off to his
father again. He felt a sudden shudder--This must have been the
very moment--at that instant, his father must have breathed his
last--involuntarily, Bruno drew his hand back. His horse halted. He
again put spurs to him, and gallope