stomachs," the Count put in ; " they are lined with sheet iron. Our peasants eat every kind of fungus they find, and are none the worse for them."
"At least prevent her from tasting the agaricus necator she has in her basket," I cried, and I stretched out my hand to take one of the most poisonous of the mushrooms, but the old woman quickly withdrew the basket.
" Take care," she said in a frightened tone; " they are protected . . . Pirkuns! Pirkuns!"
"Pirkuns," I may explain in passing, is the Samogitian name for the divinity called by the Russians Péroune; it is the Jupiter tonans of the Slavs. If I was surprised when I heard the old woman invoke a pagan god, I was much more astonished to see the mushrooms heave up. The black head of a snake raised itself at least a foot out of the basket. I jumped back, and the Count spat over his shoulder after the superstitious custom of the Slavs, who believe that in this way they turn away misfortune, as did the ancient Romans. The old woman put the basket on the ground, and crouched by its side; then she held out her hand towards the snake, pronouncing some unintelligible words like an incantation. The snake remained quiet a moment,
