"Well, what do you say?"

Semenoff irritably flourished his stick, which had a crooked handle.
His shadow similarly waved a long black arm which made Yourii think of
the black wings of some infuriated bird of prey.

"What do I say?" he blurted out. "I say that I am going to die."

And again he waved his stick and again the sinister shadow imitated his
gesture. This time Semenoff also noticed it.

"Do you see?" said he bitterly. "There, behind me, stands Death,
watching my every movement. What's Bebel to me? Just a babbler, who
babbles about this. And then some other fool will babble about that. It
is all the same to me! If I don't die to-day, I shall die to-morrow."

Yourii made no answer. He felt confused and hurt.

"You, for instance," continued Semenoff, "you think that it's very
important, all this that goes on at the University, and what Bebel
says. But what I think is that, if you knew for certain, as I do, that
you were going to die you would not care in the least what Bebel or
Nietzsche or Tolstoi or anybody else said."

Semenoff was silent.

The moon still shone brightly, and ever the black shadow followed in
their wake.

"My constitution's done for!" said Semenoff suddenly in quite a