The widow spoke to him of Yosef with greater and greater insistence, with increasing force, with rising passion. A process of ill-omen for Gustav, as Gustav himself thought, took place in her. The deceased Potkanski became more and more incarnate in Yosef; in this new figure Potkanski was dissolved and lost. By degrees, and just through long separation, the enthusiastic heart of Helena remembered Yosef more and more, but now for the sake of himself.
A new epoch of resuscitated happiness for the widow, of dying hope for Gustav, emerged gradually, urged on by the rude hand of necessity,—an epoch born of tears, chance, and pain.
"I may not, I may not be long in peace!" thought he. "But happen what may, I will not bring him here a second time."
Every one will divine easily what was hidden under a reflection of that sort. Gustav judged that he would be able to stifle himself by work, he was more and more wearied; happy moments he had only in sleep.
Once he dreamed that he was at Helena's knees and kissing her hands; he felt distinctly her dear palms on his heart. Then in the dream excitement of passion he found her lips
