"But this I beg to tell the gentlemen. In the city out there are trouble and suffering, but when any one comes here he lies peacefully. I think often to myself: 'Will the Lord God torture souls in that other world also? Is it little that man suffers here?'"
After a time Helena finished praying. Yosef gave her his arm again. Yosef was silent; evidently something was weighing on his heart. By design or by chance he led Helena along a path different from the first one. All at once, when near the gate, he pointed to one of the graves, and said in a kind of cold voice,—
"See, Helena, that man there loved thee during his life more than Potkanski, and still thou hast not mentioned him."
The day was inchning. Helena cast her eye on the object which Yosef had indicated. At the grave stood a black wooden cross, and on it were written in white the words: "Gustav—died year—day."
The evening rays painted the inscription as it were in letters of blood.
"Let us go from here; it is getting dark," whispered Helena, nestling her head up to Yosef s shoulder.
When they entered the city, darkness was beginning in earnest, but a clear night was
