golden butterfly, was sitting on his brain and melting into misty mildness the sharp lines of his features.
Augustinovich looked at him carefully, then rose in the bed silently with a face full of indignation and anger. "What is he doing?" thought he. "Thou art tempting thyself! May I be hanged if I don't throw a pillow at thy head. Thou booby! Yes, I will throw the pillow! break the lamp—Hei!"
He had finished in a moment these warlike preparations, and was making ready to give the terrible blow, when he pushed under the blanket quickly; Yosef opened his eyes.
"I am curious to know what will happen now," muttered Augustinovich, pretending to sleep like a dead man. Meanwhile his astonishment grew in earnest.
Yosef looked at him suspiciously, then looked around like a criminal; finally he pulled out a drawer of the table and searched in it for some object.
"Ei! if he only does not want to shoot himself in the head, or poison himself," thought Augustinovich, terrified.
But Yosef had no thought of shooting or poisoning himself. The object which he drew forth was a glove. One small yellow wrinkled
