of human life, and in this feeling there was a secret, profound gladness. He saw the child, just born, and it seemed to him that he himself was reborn to a new life, and would live long, and that his life would be beautiful. He loved and yet pitied this new life, and he felt so happy, that he laughed so that he shook the heap of rags, and then asked himself:
"Why am I weeping?"
But he could not discover the answer to his own question, and so replied:
"So!"
And such a profound thought was conveyed by this short word, that this wreck of a man, whose life was so pitiable and lonely, was convulsed with a fresh burst of scalding tears. But at his bedside rapacious death was noiselessly taking its seat, and waiting—quietly, patiently, persistently.
