Marie Tarnowska

nd imperious under the humiliating prisoner's coif, and her long hands-those delicate hands whose caresses have dri

aint smile as with a quick downward sweep of

ave come here neither out o

nuns had seated themselves quietly near the wall, wit

my sisters in your eyes. I know you thin

telligent, lit up her eyes. Then the

his place, must be saying to yourself that all men are base and all women pitiless. A

moments. Then in a

any women do you brin

"Two Englishwomen, a Norwegian, who is deaf and dumb-and myself

, and she herself seemed startled at the unaccustomed sound. Th

ad caught a glimpse of the little girl in the blue spectacles, the happy little girl who felt that every one loved her. Th

ing the same chastened attitude as the Sisters, her hands submissively folded, he

your notes,"

Suddenly her voice sounded harsh and her g

son at Venice, in pencil,

arb and gazed round the dreary room. Then her eyes strayed from the whitewashed walls, bare except for a large ebony crucifix, to the narrow iron-barred window, and back to the Sisters sitting along the wall like a triptych of Renunciation, with folded hands and lips moving silently in their habitual prayer. "Yes, I shall wake up soon and find myself in our old garden again. My mother will come down the path and across the lawn, with her little white shawl on her head; she will call me: 'Mura! Mura! Where are you? Come, child, it is t

My mother? And little Peter? And Bozevsky? And Stahl? And Kamarowsky? Why, it is like-like 'Hamlet.'" She broke into strident laughter. "Do you remember how they all die in '

mured, and lightly

ve she turned to me quickly. Then she began

ol-feast in Kieff? How we cried when it swung us round and round and round and would not stop? I seem to b

her. "Hush," she spoke in soothing ton

ll fixed on mine with a despairing gaze. "Wake me,

mild April days she to

t as hot as it is here. And it was my birthday; I was sixteen years old. My mother herself, with great solemnity, in the presence of my father and sisters,

y mother. "At sixteen one has to look

, mother dear," I replied

such a child-such a child still, my little snowdro

ed to feel the back of my neck cool and uncovered to the breeze. What would Vassili say to see me like this! But soon the hairpins felt heavy; they pulled a hair or

on the swing again and, standing, swung myself in wide flights through the clear air. What joy it was! As I flew forward my

How delightful was the world! How bli

ng towards me arm in arm, smoking cigarettes and gazing at me. I felt shy of my loosened hair; I sh

ering impulse I let go the ropes and covered my face with my hands. I heard a cry-did it come from me?-then everything whirled round me.... For an instant I saw the gra