Concetta was in good spirits; her wrinkles revealed a kindly smile, and her eyes sparkled.

It was not a bad thing that Signor Carlo kept you company," said she to the young widow.

Nina blushed, and I felt my heart beat faster.

She went, and soon after I took my leave.

The whole day long I only thought of Signora Nina, and only dreamt of her all night. All next morning I stood at the window to see her. I was fortunate enough to be observed by her, and to be allowed to bow to her. For a whole month I stood regularly at the window at the same time, and rejoiced in the same good fortune; now I smiled at her, now she at me. Seven months and eight days after I was permitted to press Signora Nina to my heart. She was no longer a widow.

III.

We were happy. We inhabited a little house far removed from the noisy bustle of the town. Our windows did not open on to the dwellings of troublesome neighbors. We had the sun every day from morning to noon, and our new furniture shone in festive light.

She said her old uncle would on no consideration remain alone with his infirmities, and had gone to live with a sister in the town.

We were alone with our dreams, our plans, and thoughts; and that was sufficient for us. Any other society would only have been wearisome.

Our room was rose-colored, like the happy spirits that presided over it. The future appeared to us as a beautiful dream. Nina was as graceful as she was dignified. She could smile so sweetly; her glance was as bright and as clear as the moon's beam; her voice was gentle and harmonious; and then she had such a bewitching way of approaching me, laying her hands on my shoulders, and, without one spoken word, saying to me, "I love you u!" that I could have gazed on her for hours, and devoured her with my

eyes.

She had only one fault: she could not go from one room into another without banging the door behind her. Often, when I was startled from my thoughts

and dreams by the slamming of a door, I was on the point of giving expression to the unpleasant sensation; but then I saw her rosy face, and was silent. None the less did it constantly irritate me, and I tried in vain to endure it more calmly.

I must testify to myself that I was an almost perfect husband to Nina. I left her alone as seldom as possible, and then only for a short time. I never contradicted her. I tried to anticipate all her wishes, always spoke kindly to her, and committed a thousand little absurdities to keep her in good humor. But I, too, had one little fault: I was terribly absent. Sometimes, when I was absorbed in some stupid thought, I did not notice that she, herself smiling, demanded a smile from me; and then I would answer some joking fancy by a serious shake of my head.

Certainly Fate, when it mated together two such serious faults, could not have in-. tended to produce an image of conjugal

peace.

One day I was even more absent, and she slammed the doors even more violently than usual; a loud "O!" escaped from me. She had heard it and I repented it. In vain. Next time Nina did not disturb me in my contemplation; she walked softly on tiptoe, and when she closed the door she did it with the greatest care, to avoid making the least sound.

The roar of Vulcan's smithy would not have made me spring up faster from my chair. I rushed towards her, embraced and kissed her, and we laughed together in the fulness of our hearts.

But the ice was broken; a thought had come to open expression between us: we were not perfect. In spite of all her exertions, Nina did not succeed in curing herself of her fault; only as soon as she had committed it she assumed a half sorry, half teazing manner, which made her seem even more beautiful.

As for me, as often as my thoughts carried me away, I continued to shake my head and open my eyes wide; and so everything remained as before.

Our honeymoon lasted several months without the faintest shadow of a cloud resting on the brows of the lovers.

One day-it was one of those sultry July days on which the cruel hot sun mocks us-she swears to this day that she first said to me, "I should like to know in what you are always so deeply absorbed.

I really should like to know!" And would you believe it, honored reader, I am said first to have offended her by a slight imprecation, which I did not notice myself until it was more than half out of my lips? Yet, however that may be, one of us replied with a rude speech, the other with a somewhat ruder one, then now and then was added a touch of scorn and bitterness; and at last Nina's eyes were as full of tears as my heart of wounded pride.

Another time, the same beginning, the same end; and that was repeated again and again.

"This life is becoming unendurable," said she.

"So I think too," answered I.

"Indeed! Do you think so too? But I for my part am thoroughly tired of it. And we have borne these chains now for nearly a year!"

66

Ten months," I answered.

66 To you it may seem ten years, to me it does not yet seem quite so long. But I suppose our happiness has already lasted too long! O, how unhappy I am! I can see it already; you will come to hate me, if indeed you do not hate me already. But I, too, shall at last hate you."

I longed to take her in my arms, and to carry her with her wrath through all the rooms, until at last she should laughingly exclaim, "Now it is enough.' Best of all, I should have liked to kneel before her, to confess my conjugal sins, and beg for absolution, or to fall upon her neck and kiss it until it was so red with my embraces that fright would have brought her back to her senses; in short, all the good thoughts that can only occur to the best sort of husband rose up in me. give her a side-long glance; she sees my look, and shrugs her shoulders. I make a step towards her, she leaves the room, and I-do the same; but in the opposite direction, down the stairs, deeply hurt, yet full of conscience-pricks before even I began to carry out my terrible plans of

vengeance.

I

For a long time I continued walking round and round in a circle. I could not leave the spot, and involuntarily my looks always rested on the house in which dwelt my happiness.

Then all at once I remembered Concetta and Sulpicio, our good friends of former times; and I thought that I had no one to undertake the office of peace

maker with Nina for me, and besides that I would never intrust such an office to any one, or ever permit it.

I said to myself, "It is the first time: but who knows whether it is the last time? You must return to her, shorten her punishment as much as possible; you must speak kindly to her, and say that we will not quarrel any more. But what if she, instead of listening kindly to me, should prove refractory? O, what nonsense! She will certainly answer my first kind word with a hearty kiss. Then we shall no longer talk or complain, but only laugh. together."

Two or three times these conversations had brought me as far as the threshold of my house, and just as often I had gone away again. At length I ventured to cross the Rubicon, ran quickly through the doorway, sprang up the stairs, three or four steps at a time, and a moment after I stood before her, who had already come weeping to meet me on the landing.

She covered her face with her hands, and did not speak a word. I put my arm round her and drew her into the room; then I took her on my lap, gently forced her hands away from her eyes, laid my face next hers, and begged her forgiveness. But instead of forgiving me she broke out into fresh sobs, threw her arms round my neck, and laid her head on my shoulder. My heart was beating violently. Nina's behavior seemed to me to tell of some misfortune. What could have happened during my absence? New caresses in kiss and word. When at length I ventured to address her with an anxious inquiry, she

burst out afresh into more violent sobs. 'She is dead!"

"Who?"

'Concetta, poor Concetta!"

I was silent. To tell the truth, the matter did not affect me very deeply; the worthy lady was a good deal past seventy, and her place in heaven had long been reserved for her. Still I felt it my duty to pay some regard to Nina's sincere distress. When she had finished crying she said, in a voice of deep emotion,

Now they are separated!" "And who brought you the news?" "A friend who visited me. Poor Concetta died quite suddenly the day before yesterday.'

'And Sulpicio?"

demned first to death, and then, in acknowledgment of his otherwise good conduct, to run the gauntlet. He would not sue for mercy, and was forced to run till he dropped with exhaustion. Then the hospital had to receive him; even when dismissed his strength was gone; and at last he was discharged from the army as no longer of use. He came home to find his mother dead, his father dying.

By and by the open-air exercise of tilling the parental acres restored Pisarenko to health. He married an old playmate, Xenia; and they were happy in their few possessions. Five years of peace and prosperity, and three blooming children were theirs. Then followed quickly, one upon another, heavy blows of fate. A dark, strange cloud appeared one evening upon the horizon, drifting rapidly forwards, though there was no wind to impel it. It proved to be a cloud of locusts. Before morning the land was a desert; and when harvest came round, barns and granaries were empty. Dearth followed of necessity, and famine trod upon its footsteps. The nobles would do nothing to help their serfs. Many fled into the forests, and became brigands; but Pisarenko would not yield to such invitations. A hard winter succeeded, famine and wolves dominated and desolated the land. Pisarenko's wife, seeing her babe die at her breast, in her despair kneeled before the wife of the proprietor, and implored her aid. She was answered with taunts. "Are we to help you idlers and good-for-nothings?" was the heartless reply. "If you have not enough wherewith to feed your children, why did you marry?" Pisarenko bore all with fortitude and patience, encouraging others, and selling the last rag which covered him for food for his babes. Then at last the Emperor of Austria sent aid to his starving subjects, but not before hundreds of them had perished. Scarcely was this trouble a little allayed than in May came the first European invasion of the cholera, to add to the miseries of this sorely-tried land, and Pisarenko was one of the first to suffer from its scourge; his wife and all his children were taken from him. "The Lord hath given, the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord!" spoke the deeply-bowed Pisarenko, in the words of Job.

For months he continued to do his daily work bravely, sadly, until a summons

reached him that he was to take domestic service in the castle, an unwelcome post, which soon proved to be a temptation of Joseph. The stately peasant had found favor in the eyes of a fair lady, and soon Joseph's fate, too, was his; he was dismissed with blows and contumely. Again he went on his way patiently. Soon after, his horses were ill; and when he was required to labor for his master, he could not bring them. The master, who chose to believe that this illness was a subterfuge, insisted that the horses should be brought out. He then whipped the one till it dropped down dead, the other till he had lamed it, and then tethered Pisarenko himself to the plough; and for five days the man had to draw it beneath a scorching sun. At last justice threatened to interfere; but the landlord fed the commission of inquiry upon dainties and champagne, and the end was that the nobleman was politely admonished to be a little less hasty in future, and six zwanziger (about one shilling) were given to Pisarenko as compensation. Not long after, the landlord gave a picnic in the woods; the ladies objected to sit upon the ground because of the ants, and Pisarenko and another peasant were simply commanded to go down upon all fours and furnish a seat for the ladies. In this attitude they had to remain a long time, while the party chatted on about frivolous themes, regardless of their living seats. Could degradation be carried further?

At last a brigand, the champion of the oppressed, could bear no longer to see Pisarenko and his friends thus put upon. He complained to the governor of the province; the landlord was severely censured, and Pisarenko received, to his amazement, 2000 gulden damages for his horses and his pains. Not knowing what to do with such a sum, he took it to the priest, and begged him to do with it what he thought best, and then continued to do his daily work in resignation and faith in God.

So years passed; and though not spared by his landlord, this worthy was careful not to impose too much upon his servant, though his mercies would be called by us atrocities. Then came the insurrections of 1846 and 1848. When the peasants turned upon their masters, Pisarenko, with true Christian charity, saved from their fury the lady who had so cruelly misused