"Ah! I can sing no more!" she said abruptly. "I have no more strength left. -- It was such a pleasure to see you."

She closed her eyes.

I laid my hand upon her small, chilly fingers. She looked up at me, and her dark eyelids, shaded like those of ancient statues with golden lashes, closed again. A moment later they glimmered in the half light. They were moist with tears.

I remained as still as ever.

"What a strange creature I am!" suddenly exclaimed Loukeria with unexpected vivacity; and, opening her eyes wide, tried to wipe away the tears. "Oughtn't I to be ashamed? What is the matter with me? Such a thing has not happened to me for ever so long, not since the day when Vassily Poliakof came to see me last spring. As long as he was sitting here and talking, it was all right; but as soon as he was gone, I took to crying away all by myself. What an idea! Well, tears don't cost the like of us anything! Barin," added Loukeria, "you've a handkerchief, haven't you? Would you mind drying my eyes?"

I hastened to do what she asked, and left the handkerchief with her. At first she would not keep it. "Why should I have such a present made me?" she said. The handkerchief was quite a common one, but white and clean. At last she took it in her weak fingers, and kept them closed upon it. By this time I had grown accustomed to the twilight in which we were, and could distinctly make out her features, could even discern a slight rosy flush through the bronze hue of her face, could discover in that face -- at least so I fancied -- some traces of its former beauty.

"You asked me, Barin, if I slept," Loukeria began anew. "In reality I don't often sleep; but when I do I always have dreams, beautiful dreams. I never feel ill in them. In dreams I am always quite well and young. The only misfortune is that when I wake, I want to have a good stretch, and here I am unable to move. Once I had such a wonderful dream! Shall I tell you about it? Very well, you shall hear it.

"I seemed to be standing in a corn-field, and all around was rye, ever so tall, quite ripe, like so much gold! And along with me was a dog of a ruddy color, a terribly snappish one, always trying to bite me. And in my hands I seemed to hold a sickle -- not a common one, but one just like what the moon is when it looks like a sickle. And with that same sort of moon I had to cut all that rye. But I was quite done up with the heat, and the moon dazzled my eyes, and sluggishness took hold of me. And all around grew corn-flowers, such swarms of them! And all of them bent their heads toward me. I said to myself: 'I'll pick these corn-flowers. Vassily promised he would come.