"Oh! it would not be a difficult matter to turn Vranic into a friend; but I prefer being beaten by you than touched by that fiend."

Radonic started like a mad bull; and, not knowing what to do, he gave the table such a mighty thump that he nearly shivered it.

"Listen! Yesterday, when you had rolled on the floor, and were sleeping away your drunken rage----"

"Then?"

"I went to sit on the doorstep----"

"Well, go on."

"A moment afterwards Vranic was standing in front of me."

The husband's eyes flashed with rage.

"Knowing that you would not wake, he begged me to let him come in. He saw me wretched and forlorn; he would comfort me."

"You lie!" He hissed these words out through his set teeth, and caught hold of her neck to throttle her. Then, all at once, he turned his mad rage against himself, and thumped his head with all his strength, exclaiming:

"Fool, fool, fool that I am!" Then, after a short silence, and with a sullen look: "And you, what did you do?"

"I got up, came in, and slammed the door in his face."

Radonic caught his wife in his arms, and kissed her.

"Tell me one thing more. Where were you yesterday evening?"

She smiled.

"Where do you think I was? Well, I'll tell you, because you'll never guess. I was at the witch's, who lives down there by the sea sh.o.r.e."

"What for?"

"Because I'm tired of this life. I went to ask her for a charm against your bosom friend."

"And what can a foolish old woman do for you?" said the husband, trying to put on a sceptical look.

"I have not been all over the world as you have; still, I know that our blood also is red."

"And what did the _baornitza_ tell you?"

"That a flowing beard is but a vain ornament when the head is light."

Radonic shrugged his shoulders and tried not to wince.

"Besides, she gave me this charm;" and showing him her amulet, she begged him to wear it for a few days. "It will not do you any harm; wear it for my sake, even if you don't believe in it," she pleaded softly.

Radonic yielded, and allowed Milena to fasten the little bag round his neck, looking deep into her beautiful eyes uplifted towards his.

She blushed, feeling the fire of his glances.

"And now," added she, with a sigh of relief, "he'll break his viper's fangs against that bone, if our proverbs are true."

Radonic tried to keep up his character of an _esprit-fort_, and said: "Humbug!" but there was a catch in his voice as he uttered this word.

"Now, I feel sure that as long as you have this talisman you'll not open your mouth or reveal a single word of what I've told you."

"Whom do you take me for?"

"Yes, but at times our very eyes deceive us; moreover, Vranic is a man to whom everybody is like gla.s.s. He reads your innermost thoughts."

"He is sharp; nothing more, I tell you."

"Anyhow, that is a powerful charm, and if you'll only dissimulate----"

"Oh! I can be a match for him if I like."

"You must promise me one thing more."

"What is it?"

"No knives; no bloodshed."

Radonic did not answer for a moment, but cast on Milena an angry look, his hand seeking the handle of his knife.

"Will you promise?"

"Are you so fond of him that you are frightened I'll kill him?"

"I hate him."

"Then----"

"Still, it is no reason to murder him."

Radonic seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"Moreover, he is weak and puny, whilst you are made of iron." She laid her hand on his shoulder. "No knives, then; it's understood?"

"I promise to use no knife."

The morrow was a beautiful day; winter seemed already to be waking from its short sleep. The sun was shining brightly, and as the breeze was fresh and bracing, his cheerful warmth was pleasant, especially for people who have to depend upon his rays for their only heat.

Spring seemed already to be at hand, and, in fact, the first violets and primroses might have been seen glinting in sunny spots.

Milena was returning from market, and her eyes were wandering far on the wide expanse of glittering blue waters, but her thoughts, like fleet halcyons, dived far away into the hazy distance, unfathomable to the sight itself, and she hummed to herself the following song:

"A crystal rill I fain would be, And down the deep dell then I'd go; Close to his cottage I would flow.

Thus every morn my love I'd see, Oft to his lips I might be pressed, And nestle close unto his breast."

Then she sighed and tried not to think, for hers, indeed, was forlorn hope.