and often interrupted by a dry, hacking cough.
Madam Sadovsky's slight form would have made her appear almost girlish, were it not that her face was already one mass of wrinkles; her thin hair, well streaked with gray, was combed smooth; and her eyes showed a calm resignation. The children, like the parents, looked pinched and careworn. The garments of all showed no small effort to keep within the limits of respectability.
Upon the table, covered with a clean but much darned tablecloth, were four small sausages and four slices of bread; a glass of water stood at each plate.
"You are late again," said Madam Sadovsky reproachfully, as she placed a pair of sausages upon her husband's plate, and cut the other pair in two to divide between the children. "We have been waiting so long for you. When will you learn to work according to office hours?"
"Never, I am afraid," replied Sadovsky as he cut the sausage in two and passed the plate to his wife to take her share of the supper.
"I have had my supper already," she replied as she declined the proffered food. "We had quite a little left over from dinner; you didn't eat much."
Both children raised their eyes to their mother in surprise. They knew that nothing whatever had been left from dinner, and that she had not tasted food since noon.
"It is almost impossible to work only during office hours," continued Sadovsky, as he quietly placed half his supper upon his wife's plate. "The work gets heavier every day. I have been assigned the task of investigating the socialistic disturbances in Prague. The responsibility is very great, the work must be thoroughly done, hence one cannot be a stickler in office hours."
"It seems to me that any particularly hard work is shoved off on you."
"The others don't fare much better; we all have our hands full."
"And you have brought work home again," she sighed, as she glanced at the roll of documents on the side table.
"I must get ready for the examination of Sykora to-morrow. Would you mind going to bed early this evening, so that I may have the room to myself? It is a great responsibility; I must be well prepared for the task."
"All day we see nothing of you, and when you do get home and we could enjoy your society a little while, we must go to bed, so that you may work. And it is so every day in the week, and year in and year out."
"Such is the life of a government officer," gravely replied Sadovsky.
Supper was soon eaten, and the mother and children bade the father good-night and withdrew.
Jeromir Sadovsky walked the floor for a few minutes, then sat down to the table to begin his evening's work. Spreading before himself a pile of law papers, he began to peruse them with deep attention, while the shaded oil lamp lighted the wan face of the worker.
It was long after midnight, when in the house opposite, the one into whose court opened the doors of Hloucek's dwelling, a young mother, who had been wakened by her baby's crying, glanced across the street the green lamp shade was still visible. Beneath it could be seen a bald head. Adjutant Sadovsky was still at work. The
