widow looked exactly like a young betrothed. The wind blew apart the ribbons of her dainty hat, played with her white dress, and bearing apart the cape, showed her slender form. Leaning on Yosef's arm gracefully, she delighted in him and the sun and the air, and was as if born into the world a second time. Yosef looked more at her than at the people around. We will not undertake to repeat the words in that twittering of lovers, without meaning for others, full of charm for themselves. But there was more serious conversation; she, for example, begged him to take her to Potkanski's grave.
"In the summer," said she, "there is much shade even in the cemetery. And it is so long since I was there; still I cannot forget him. Thou takest his place, Yosef, but permit me to pray for him sometimes."
It was all one to Yosef for whom or for what Helena prayed; so he answered with an indulgent smile,—
"Very well, remember thy dead; but love the living," added he, inchning his head toward her face.
A slight pressing of Yosef's arm to her breast was Helena's answer. She looked him in the eyes, then blushed like a girl.
