"Good-night!" said Augustinovich. "I will tell thee to-morrow where thou art coming from now—I wish to sleep—good-night."
The next day was Sunday. In the morning Yosef poured the tea; Augustinovich, lying in bed yet, and looking at the ceiling, was smoking a pipe. Both were thinking of the day previous.
Finally Augustinovich was the first to speak,—
"Dost thou know what has come to my head?"
"No."
"Then I will tell thee. I will tell thee that it is not worth while to attach one's life to the first woman that comes along; as I wish well to Jove, it is not! There are better things in this world."
"Whence did those ideas come to thee?"
"Straight from the pipe. A man so binds himself to an idea, grows one with it completely, and then something comes and, behold! of those palaces as much remains as of the smoke which I blow out at this moment."
An immense roll of smoke rose up from Augustinovich's lips, and striking the ceiling was scattered on all sides.
The conversation was stopped for a while.
