cemetery with flowers . . . an unspeakable pang thrilled her for a moment, only for a moment,—and she looked again proudly at the landscape.
She passed through a small village of low houses, straw-thatched, with tiny windows, and small yards with heaps of manure, flocks of chickens, and little children playing before the doors. Here and there an old man was warming his parched body in the heat of the sun. A dog lying upon the threshold peacefully fixed his calm, black eyes upon her,—everything, everything seemed so happy, so contented to her. She did not in the least begrudge them their happiness,—what was the little sun in which a man warmed himself for a moment, in comparison with what was in store for her?
She walked on and on. . . . Beside the road ran an avenue of shady cherry trees. Their bark glistened with a brownish violet sheen, and upon their branches gleamed an abundance of black fruit.
