became clearer. At last he was able to get to the bed and lie down with his teeth chattering; no sooner had he got some warmth into his body than he went off into a deep, swoon-like, dreamless sleep.
When he woke up the grey light of day was coming through the window; someone had pulled up the blind and created a certain amount of order in the room. He was unable to comprehend who had done this; but, on the other hand, he remembered the explosion of the day before, Thomas, and his departure. His head was splitting, he felt a weight on his chest, and he was tortured by a tearing cough. That’s bad, he said to himself, that’s really bad; I ought to have gone home and gone to bed there. He got up and began to dress. himself with long pauses. He felt as if something was exercising a horrible pressure on his chest. Then he sat down, indifferent to everything and breathing heavily.
Suddenly the bell rang briefly and lightly. With an effort he remembered himself and went to open the door. Outside was standing a young girl with a veil over her face.
“Does . . . Mr. Thomas live here?” she asked rapidly and confusedly.
“Please,” said Prokop and made way for her. When, hesitating a little, she had passed close by him into the room, he became conscious of a faint and elegant perfume which he inhaled with delight.
He gave her a seat by the window and sat down opposite her, holding himself as straight as he was able to. He felt that through this very effort he must appear to be severe and frozen, which embar-
