turn and repulsed the philosopher curtly when he tried to start a conversation. Then he suddenly ceased talking. That angered her still more. She wanted to punish him, she wished that he would beg and coax her; but the proud philosopher was now silent as if angry and insulted.
At other times Mrs. Roubinek would not go home till evening, with the main procession, but to-day the sun had scarcely touched the horizon of the grove when she was preparing to return. Vavřena, in order to fulfill his duty, offered to accompany them, and especially to take Fritz home. He planned to return to the grove.
“Lenka will take care of Fritz; we do not want to interrupt your pleasure,” Mrs. Roubínek rebuffed him sharply.
He bowed, and his last glance fell on Lenka’s face. She was calm, bright as the spring scene around; from her eyes the light of happiness, trust and determination shone on him.
Dusk settled on the grove of Nedošín. The sharpshooter’s band stepped down from the dance-hall to the restaurant. Singing, cries and laughter had not ceased even now when the philosophers began to form into a column for their return march.
The gay and noisy company was not as numerous as it hed been in the morning, for many a student had left the column in order to render a knightly service, and to lend his manly arm to a beloved maiden on the way back to Litomyšl. Špína, who with an unsteady step was walking in the last row, was under the guidance of his fellow-countryman. The lanky orphan had gotten over his fit of crying, but had not quite gotten rid of his sorrow and—his tipsiness.
Behind the gayly singing student legion followed the crowd of faithful picnickers, among whom was Miss Elis, accompanied by Vavřena, and Miss Márinka who entrusted herself to the care and love of Mr. Frýbort.
The music again resounded through the town now for the last time that day. The main column halted and the picnickers dispersed. It was high time too, for when they were nearing town, the sky grew dark with clouds and it prepared to rain.
When Miss Elis reached home with her philosophers, first of all she reutrned to the landlady her protegee, the happy Márinka. They found Zelenka sitting at a table, studying diligently.
“But, Mr. Zelenka, you should have allowed yourself that enjoyment, and not have acted differently from the others,” Miss Elis interrupted.
“No time, Miss Elis. When I once become somebody then I also shall indulge,” ansvered the lean student.
“You materialist! Then you will throw the books away, and never look at them,” cried Frýbort scornfully, while he was putting his bouquet of violets into a glass of fresh water.
Frýbort and Vavřena sat long in the parlor with Miss Elis, discussing the events of the day. All were satisfied. Only Miss Elis, in her auxiety, cast a shadow upon the talk: what will happen at the college, and what at the registrar’s? But the young men were not afraid.
Špína soon fell into a deep sleep and forgot that he was an orphan and that he saw something terrible in the grove.
A May night came on.
Lenka sat in her room by a small table. A candle threw its light on a small open book. There was a deep silence in the house; everybody else was asleep. The young girl, resting her hands on the table, looked dreamily before her. After a while she again bent over the book and read:
“T’was late evening, first of May,
an eve of May, t’was time of love,
to which invited the call of dove—”
Something rustled; she was startled. She stepped to the window, looked out, and then extinguishing the light, opened the window. It was a humid, pleasant night; from the dark sky the first May rain dripped gently and rippled pleasantly in the foliage of the blossoming trees.
As the flowers and leaves revived under the quiet shower, her soul likewise was flooded with a sense of freedom. She leaned out and listened to the gentle whispers and murmurs. She forgot her galling circumstances and her dependence, and her soul abandoned itself to the sweet dreams of her first, dear love. She felt happy. She was living over again that beautiful hour which had scarcely passed. She stood in the dusky grove by the old, bent tree. What is that birdie doing now? Will he also think of the bird?
At that time, Márinka already slept sweetly. She did not hear the rain which pattered on her bedroom window. She was in the grove again, where she was paying Frýbort her lost bet.
CHAPTER VII.
A new day awoke, and with it the routine of ordinary life. The bell in the college tower pealed, and the students flocked out in full numbers as usual. Euthusiasm cooled, joyous intoxication sobered, and grave deliberation established itself.
The professor of theology did not appear in the college. The philosophers remembered the words of the strict rector, that the professor would not come until an apology should be offered him. They discussed what to do. Before they came to any conclusion, however, some of them, among whom were both Frýbort and Vavřena, were called to the rector.
That which everybody expected and which Miss Elis feared, a strict trial for the storm and the “majales”, ensued. Such things could not remain secret in a small town like Litomyšl, and
