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. I'll make myself a wreath first; there will be time enough for my reaping afterward.' Well, I began plucking the corn-flowers, but they melted away in my hands, and so I could not make myself a wreath. Meanwhile I heard some one come close to me and call: 'Loukeria, Loukeria!' 'Ah!' thought I, 'what a pity; I've not had time enough after all. Never mind, I'll put this moon on my head instead of the corn-flowers.' So I put on the moon, just like a Kokoshnick [*], and immediately I began to shine so brightly that I lighted up the whole field. Presently there came swiftly gliding along the surface of the corn, not Vassily, but Christ himself! How I knew that it was Christ I cannot say. He was not as we see him in Church pictures, but still it was he -- tall, youthful, beardless, all in white, only with a golden girdle. He stretched out his hand to me and said: 'Be not afraid, my chosen spouse, but follow me. In my heavenly kingdom shalt thou lead the choral dance, and sing songs of Paradise.' And I, how closely did I cling to his hand! The dog was following at my heels, but just then we rose in the air. He was in front -- his wings, long wings like a sea-gull's, spreading over all the heavens -- and I followed after him. So the dog had to stay behind. Then for the first time I understood that the dog was my ailment, and that in the heavenly kingdom there was now no place for it."

Loukeria paused for a while.