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that had since transpired. But experience of that dreadful time was too sad, too monstrous, one could not receive it as truth.
“Tenaida Mikolaiefno!” he cried imploringly. “Why is all that? Tenaida!”
But her oppressed body remained silent while he thus vaguely spoke. Niemoviecki then fell on his knees before her imploring and threatening in reality to kill himself. He shook her, lifting, turning, pressing her to his heart, and even pressing her hard, but her overheated body made no resistance, but obediently yielded itself.
All this was so terrible, wild and incomprehensible, that Niemoviecki again started up suddenly and cried with a broken voice:
“Help! Help!” but that sounded as if false and acting a part.
Again he threw himself on that motionless body, kissing it, and crying over it,
