w, he opened the _fortotchka_.[30] A sharp frosty
breeze brought refreshment to his heated frame. The moon's radiance
still lay broadly on the roofs and white walls of the houses, and small
floating clouds chased each other across the sky. All was still, save
when, from time to time, there fell faintly upon the ear the distant
jarring rattle of a lingering drojki, prowling in search of a belated
fare. For some time our young painter remained with his head out of
the fortotchka, and it was not until signs of approaching dawn were
visible in the heavens that he closed the pane, threw himself upon his
bed, and fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

It was very late when he awoke with a violent headache. The room felt
close; a disagreeable dampness saturated the air, and made its way
through the crevices of the windows. Low-spirited, uncomfortable, and
cheerless as a drenched cock, he sat down on his dilapidated sofa, and
began to recall his dream of the previous night. So vivid was the
impression it had made, that he could hardly persuade himself it had
been a mere dream. Removing the sheet, he minutely examined the portrait
by the light of day. He was still struck with the extraordinary power
and expression of the eyes, but he found in them nothing peculiarly
terrific. Still an unpleasant impression remained upon his mind. He
could not divest himself of the conviction that a fragment of horrible
reality had mingled with his dream. In defiance of reason, he imagined
something peculiarly significant in the expression of the old man's
face; a something of the cautious stealthy look it had worn when he
crept round the screen, and counted his gold under the very nose of the
needy painter. And Tchartkoff still felt the print of the rouleau upon
his palm, as though it had but that instant left his grasp. Had he held
it but a little tighter, he thought, it must have remained in his hand
even after his awakening.

"Heavens!" he exclaimed, heaving a sorrowful sigh, "had I but the moiety
of that wealth!" And again in his mind's eye he saw the rouleaus
streaming from the sack. Again he read the attractive inscription,--1000
DUCATS; again they were unrolled, he heard the chink of metal, saw it
shine, burned to clutch it. But once more the blue paper was rolled
around it; and there he sat, motionless and entranced, straining his eyes
upon vacancy, powerless to divert their gaze from the imaginary
treasure--like a child gazing with w