Augustinovich gritted his teeth and made no answer.
The time came at last when Yosef left the hospital, and a month later he passed his examination as doctor of medicine. It was a clear autumnal day. The two friends, with their diplomas in their pockets, were returning to the house. Yosef's face bore on it yet the marks of disease, but otherwise he was perfectly healthy. Augustinovich walked arm in arm with him; along the road they talked of the past.
"Let us sit here on this bench," said Augustinovich when they entered the garden. "It is a beautiful day, I like to warm myself in the sun on such a day."
They sat down. Augustinovich stretched himself comfortably, drew a long breath, and said with gladsome feeling,—
"Well, old man! we ought to have had in our pockets for the last three months these wretched rolls which we have received only to-day."
"True," replied Yosef, pushing away with his cane a few yellow leaves that were lying at the side of the bench.
"The leaves are falling from the trees, and the birds are moving southward," said Augustinovich. Then lowering his voice and pointing to a flock of wagtails flying above the trees, he added,—
"But wilt thou not go south after the couriers of the sun?"
"I? Whither?"