of
his dominion, watching how the warm breezes played with the flower-bells
of the trees, all at once returned: with the full vigor of vengeance he
came, and in three days destroyed everything, in which man happened to
delight. To the last leaf everything was frozen off the trees.

On this most inclement of the three wintry May evenings Lorand was
standing alone at his window, and gazing abstractedly at the street
through the ice-flower pattern of the window-panes.

Just such ice-flowers lay frozen before his soul. The lottery of fate
has appointed his time: ten years his life would last; then he must die.

From seventeen to twenty-seven is just the fairest part of life. Many
had made their whole earthly career during that period.

And what awaits him?

His ardent yearning for freedom, his audacious plans, his misplaced
confidence; friends' treason, and the consequent freezing rigor, where
were they leading to?...

Every leaf had fallen from the trees. Only ten years to live: the decree
was unalterable.

From the opponent, whom he despised, it is not possible even to accept
as a present, that to which chance has once given him the right.

And these ten years, with what will they begin? Perhaps with a long
imprisonment? The time which is so short--(ten years are light!) will
seem so long _there_! (ten years are heavy!) Would it not be better not
to wait for the first day? To say: if it is time, take it away: let me
not take the days on lease from thee! The hateful, freezing days.

Why, when nature dies in this wise, man himself would love to die after
her.

If only there were not that weeping face at home, that white-haired
head, mother and grandmother.

In vain Fate is inevitable. The eighth bed was already made;--but _that_
no one must know for ten years. Should someone learn, he might
perpetrate the outrage of occupying earlier the eighth niche in the
family vault; and then his successor would have nothing left but the
church-yard grave.

What a thought, a youthful spring with these frozen leaves!

He did not think for the next few moments. Is it worth while to try to
avoid the fate, which is certain? Let it come. The keystone of the arch
had been removed, the downfall of the whole must follow. His room was
already in darkness, but he did not light a lamp. The dancing flames of
the fire-place gazed out sometimes above the embers, in curiosity, as if
they would know whether any living being were there: