with pools and marshes, was placed the station. This
two-story building of rough brick containing the quarters of the
station-master and his assistant, a small wooden house at the side
for the telegrapher and the minor employees, another similar one
near the last switches for the watchman, three switch-houses at
various points, and a freight-house were the only signs of human
habitation.

Surrounding the station on all sides were the murmuring woods, while
above, a strip of blue sky, slashed with gray clouds, extended like
a wide-spreading roof.

The sun was veering toward the south and glowing ever brighter and
warmer; the reddish slopes of the rocky hill, with its ragged summit
gashed by spring freshets, were bathed in a flood of golden
sunlight.

The calm of a spring afternoon diffused itself over all. The trees
stood motionless without a murmur in their boughs. The sharp emerald
leaves of the beeches drooped drowsily, as though lulled to sleep by
the light, the warmth, and the silence. The twitter of birds sounded
at rare intervals from the thickets, and only the cry of the
water-fowls on the marshes and the somnolent hum of insects filled
the air. Above the blue line of rails stretching in an endless chain
of curves and zigzags, the warm air glowed with shifting hues of
violet light.

Out of the office of the station-master came a short, squarely-built
man with light, almost flaxen hair. He was dressed, or rather
squeezed into a stylish surtout and held his hat in his hand while a
workman helped him on with his overcoat.

The station-master stood before him, stroking his grayish beard with
an automatic gesture and smiling in a friendly manner. He also was
stocky, strongly-knit, and broad shouldered, and in his blue eyes,
flashing jovially from beneath heavy eyebrows and a square forehead,
there also gleamed determination and an unbending will. His straight
nose, full lips, a certain contraction of the brows, and the sharp
direct glance of his eyes, that seemed like a dagger-stroke--all
these typified a violent nature.

"Good-bye, until to-morrow!" . . . said the blonde man merrily,
extending his big hand in farewell.

"Good-bye! . . . Oh come, let me hug you. To-morrow we'll celebrate
the big event with a good drink."

"I am a little afraid of that to-morrow."

"Courage, my boy! Don't fear, I give you my word that everything
will turn out all right. Ill tell Jenka all about it immediately.
You will co