"Then you'll be better in the morning. . . ."
"Yes, of course, of course . . . I shall be better. . . ."
"Then will you come to the station too, early to-morrow morning, and meet the train from Paris?"
"To-morrow morning early . . . yes, certainly, certainly. . . ."
"You oughtn't to have gone out."
"No, no . . . but I'm going home now . . . going to bed. . . . Good-bye. To-morrow morning early."
"Good-bye, Uncle."
Gerrit went away.
Above the Woods, on one side, the low sky sank lower and lower, heavy with grey clouds, such heavy grey clouds that they did not seem light enough to continue hovering there, seemed bound to fall . . . and to Gerrit they were, in the dim hues of his fevered vision, like purple pieces falling from the dragon's body, which was cut up by the express. The whole sky was full of purple dragon's blood; and it now streamed down like pouring rain. The blood streamed in a violent downpour and appeared intent upon drowning everything. . . .
Gerrit had now turned in the direction of the cemetery; and, impelled by instincts and forces outside himself, he walked in and, vaguely, asked the porter some question, he did not know what. The
