She arose, dried her tears, shook out her dress, opened her black sunshade, and walked towards the gate between a row of flowery graves. She went back by the dusty road over which she had come, and then across the bridge and by the street that led to the common. She protected herself with the parasol; more against the eyes of the people than against the burning sun. She passed the common and walked along the streets. . . . Everywhere was life, and everywhere warmth and joy, but Lucy saw it all through a mist, as though from a distance. . . .
In the yard of the estate stood a dusty coach. The driver was leading away his sweating, glistening horses.
Lucy entered the house.
Jiří was walking up and down with long, heavy steps. He was rubbing his hands. He was excited, and his dark eyes were sparkling. He looked at Lucy, as if taking special notice of her black dress, that fa-
