one his duty, turned his attention to his plate again.

"Not another bit, Wladin, you've had enough. We don't want you to dream
of bulls to-night."

Wladin obediently put down his knife and fork, and prepared to drink a
glass of water.

"Give it me first," cried his wife excitedly. "I want to see that it is
not too cold."

Wladin handed over his glass of water.

"You may drink a little of it, but not too much. Stop, stop, that will
do!"

Poor Wladin! He was a martyr to conjugal love! For sixteen years he had
suffered under this constant thoughtfulness, and though he was a strong
man when he married, and had never been ill since, yet every minute of
his life he expected some catastrophe; for, through constant warnings,
the unfortunate Pole had worked himself up to the belief that a current
of air or a drop of water could be disastrous to him. He felt that
Nature had bad intentions toward him.

"Take care, Wladin, or the dog will bite your foot!"

One of the watch-dogs was under the table gnawing at a bone he had
possessed himself of, and a little farther off the cat was looking on,
longingly, as much as to say: "Give me some of that superfluous food."

Now began the so-called "amabilis confusio." Every one spoke at once,
and every one about a different subject. The Senators had returned to
the important question of the corpse hanging in the wood; Mrs. Mravucsan
complained that no one was eating anything, and looked as wretched as
she could.

Each one drank to the other's health, and during the quiet moment that
followed, a voice was heard:

"Oh, Wladin, Wladin!"

It was Mrs. Szliminszky's voice; she evidently objected to her husband
drinking, and her neighbor, Mr. Mokry, the lawyer's clerk, objected to
her constant distractions, in spite of the interesting theme they were
discussing.

"That strong cigar will harm you, Wladin; you had better put it down.
Well, and why did you go to Besztercebanya, Mr. Mokry?"

"I had a lot to do there, but, above all, I bought the suit I have on."

He looked admiringly at his dark blue suit for about the hundredth time
that evening.

"It is a very nice suit. What did you pay for it?"

"I had it made to measure at Klener's, and went to try it on myself."

"What was the price?"

"It is real Gacs cloth, and quite impervious to rain; you should see it
by daylight!"

"Yes, of course, but what did it cost?" asked the Polish lady, her
thoughts still occupied with her h