“‘If he should die,’ she said in a quavering voice, ‘it will be because of the leaves which you have given him!’
“‘Impossible,’ Gavrilo replied. ‘Does not a bird live among the leaves?’
“‘I tell you,’ she exclaimed, ‘I have asked the old bird man about it. He says some leaves are good and some are not. He is coming this evening to see the kos and give it medicine in its water.’
“I was relieved when Gavrilo pressed the point no farther but dropped the fresh leaves on the ground. Feeling that a situation had been narrowly averted, I thought best to leave them together.
“That evening, as I was walking toward the hotel from the square at the center of the town, I saw him coming out of the kafana with several of the youths I had come to recognize as his friends. He joined me and we walked along together. At Mara’s garden gate he halted, saying: ‘Let us enter and see the poor bird.’
“‘No, Gavrilo,’ I said warningly. ‘It is not the bird we go to see, but Mara.’
“‘So be it,’ he replied. ‘Let us then visit Mara.’
“Mara was not in the garden. Gavrilo called her name. She answered from the house, and a moment later came out to meet us.
“As she emerged I saw her glance at the bird cage. Then she gave a startled cry.
“‘Look!’ she wailed. ‘The kos is dead!’