We left; but at a long distance from the yurta we could still hear the barking of the senseless creature.
FOREBODINGS
TWO SKETCHES BY
STEFAN ZEROMSKI[1]
[Footnote 1: The accent on the Z softens the sound approximately to that of the French g in gele.]
I had spent an hour at the railway station, waiting for the train to come in. I had stared indifferently at several ladies in turn who were yawning in the corners of the waiting-room. Then I had tried the effect of making eyes at a fair-haired young girl with a small white nose, rosy cheeks, and eyes like forget-me-nots; she had stuck out her tongue (red as a field-poppy) at me, and I was now at a loss to know what to do next to kill time.
Fortunately for me two young students entered the waiting-room. They looked dirty from head to foot, mud-bespattered, untidy, and exhausted with travelling. One of them, a fair boy with a charming profile, seemed absent-minded or depressed. He sat down in a corner, took off his cap, and hid his face in his hands. His companion bought his ticket for him, sat down beside him, and grasped his hand from time to time.
'Why should you despair? All may yet be well. Listen, Anton.'
'No, it's no good, he is dying, I know it…. I know… perhaps he is dead already.'
'Don't believe it! Has your father ever had this kind of attack before?'