those mournful sensations, how I revelled in them!�

One day I was sitting on the wall looking into the distance and listening to the ringing of the bells� . Suddenly something floated up to me – not a breath of wind and not a shiver, but as it were a whiff of fragrance – as it were, a sense of some one’s being near� . I looked down. Below, on the path, in a light greyish gown, with a pink parasol on her shoulder, was Zina�da, hurrying along. She caught sight of me, stopped, and pushing back the brim of her straw hat, she raised her velvety eyes to me.

‘What are you doing up there at such a height?’ she asked me with a rather queer smile. ‘Come,’ she went on, ‘you always declare you love me; jump down into the road to me if you really do love me.’