for life? The ground was pushing from under her. Like a boat without an oar, she was to drift in the future beyond sight of shore. To-day an orphan gathered in by honest hearts, she may find herself to-morrow simply suffering hunger, without a morsel of bread; to-day so white that lilies might bloom on her breast, she may in future stain that whiteness with the gall of her own bitterness: to-day half a child almost, in the spring, in the May morning, she may after this or that number of years have to look at her life’s fruitless autumn.
Humiliated, broken, "like twigs after a tempest," pushed away from her moral basis, killed in her happiness; with dry burning eyes she pressed the weeping Malinka to her bosom convulsively.
Lula did not weep, although she had tears enough for weeping; anger had dried them. But Malinka cried enough for both.
Next morning the countess received two letters, one from Pelski, the other from Yosef.
