glanced upwards at the blazing blue sky. Samoylenko grew drowsy;
the sultry heat, the stillness and the delicious after-dinner
languor, which quickly pervaded all his limbs, made him feel heavy
and sleepy; his arms dropped at his sides, his eyes grew small, his
head sank on his breast. He looked with almost tearful tenderness
at Von Koren and the deacon, and muttered:

"The younger generation. . . A scientific star and a luminary of
the Church. . . . I shouldn't wonder if the long-skirted alleluia
will be shooting up into a bishop; I dare say I may come to kissing
his hand. . . . Well . . . please God. . . ."

Soon a snore was heard. Von Koren and the deacon finished their tea
and went out into the street.

"Are you going to the harbour again to catch sea-gudgeon?" asked
the zoologist.

"No, it's too hot."

"Come and see me. You can pack up a parcel and copy something for
me. By the way, we must have a talk about what you are to do. You
must work, deacon. You can't go on like this."

"Your words are just and logical," said the deacon. "But my laziness
finds an excuse in the circumstances of my present life. You know
yourself that an uncertain position has a great tendency to make
people apathetic. God only knows whether I have been sent here for
a time or permanently. I am living here in uncertainty, while my
wife is vegetating at her father's and is missing me. And I must