say, “I know all, but what of that?” She took all his questionings and all his musings so lightly that his questions died away upon his lips.
Then he stroked her hair just as in the old days he had stroked it by the streamlet under the willows when the cuckoo cuckooed to them, and Krista smiled placidly even at this and seemed to say, “How soft your hand is.” And he kissed her eyeballs but now no salt tears oozed from under the heavy eyelids, and he kissed her on the mouth but now, alas! it chilled all kissing that fell upon it. And do what he would Krista repulsed him not, at everything she only smiled, to everything she made but one response, “I am contented with everything thou dost.”
She smiled the same cold smile whatever Venik did or thought. Be it subtle questioning, be it doubting, be it the outpouring of affliction—for it all she had but one cold smile.
Then he took his violin into his hands again and turning towards Krista with it he said, “A little while ago these strings breathed life, now only the icy wind of death streams from them. Oh! Krista, a little while ago they charmed thee to my side, now they have murdered thee and driven thee away for ever.” And Krista ever smiled the same cold smile.
And she still smiled when they brought her coffin and when they laid her to rest in it on a bed of flowers. And when the singers came with whom in times gone by she had wrought her audience to a frenzy of delight, and when above her pealed the funeral dirge its last farewell she smiled the same cold smile. And she smiled when priests came and above her coffin pattered prayers which sounded already like the rattling of the clods of earth upon its lid. And still she smiled when the lid was laid upon the coffin, even when that lid had all but closed upon her, even when in one last lingering gleam the light of this world died away into eternal darkness. The lid concealed her face and concealed her smile. And Venik in spirit saw her still smile on, even in the coffin, even in the carriage in which they laid her.
Now when he saw the horses gird to and move away with her he would gladly have unyoked them and himself drawn Krista to her burial. Now it seemed a shameful thing to leave it to horses to draw her to her last resting-place, just as in her hour of triumph it had seemed a shameful thing that the people should yoke themselves to her car. The people paced behind her coffin. There was a countless multitude and Venik was but one of them, and felt the oppressive presence of that crowd. Oh! that he could
