nor afraid.  Only after I had awoke the loathing became unbearable and changed into a kind of fear,—­fear of death.  It was the first time I had that sensation, and that fear of death took such a form.  “Who knows,” I thought, “what hideous shapes are awaiting me in the darkness, on the other side of life?” Later on I remembered that I had seen some similar beetles in an entomological collection, but at the time they seemed to me something unnatural, belonging to an intangible after-life.  I jumped up and raised the blind, and the sight of daylight calmed me at once.  The streets were already alive with the traffic of the early morning,—­vegetable carts drawn by dogs, servants going to market, and laborers to their work.  The sight of the normal human life is the best remedy against phantasms like these.  I feel now an immense necessity for light and life.  The final conclusion of all this is that I am not well.  My tragedy undermines me like a cancer.  I see white threads in my hair; this might have come in the course of nature; but my face, especially in the morning, has a waxen hue, and my hands are getting transparent.  I am not getting thin, it is rather the opposite, but I am conscious of anaemia as I am conscious of my psychical state, and I feel that my vital powers are passing through a crisis, and that some calamity is threatening me.

I shall never go mad.  I cannot even imagine how I could ever lose control over myself.  Besides, a celebrated physician, and what is more an intelligent man, told me that at a certain point of developed consciousness this was quite impossible.  I think he has written a book about it.  But without going mad I may be on the eve of some portentous nervous disease; and as I know a little what that means, I say sincerely that any other would be preferable.

I have not much faith in doctors, especially in those that trust to physic, but I may take some advice if only to please my aunt.  I know one remedy, which would be infallible; if Kromitzki died and I could marry Aniela I should speedily get well.  A disease springing from nerves must be cured through nerves.  But she will not be my physician, even if my life is in danger.

I went with Aniela and my aunt to Angeli’s studio.  The first sitting took place to-day.  How right I was in saying that she is one of the most beautiful women I ever met in life, because there is nothing commonplace in her beauty.  Angeli looked at her with manifest pleasure, as if he had before him a noble piece of art.  He was in excellent spirits, drew the outline with enthusiasm, and did not conceal at all the reason of his satisfaction.  “In my profession,” he said, “a model like this is very rare indeed.  With such a sitter it is delightful to work.  What a face! what expression!”

The expression was by no means so charming as usual, because Aniela is a shy little creature; she felt confused, bewildered, and it evidently cost her an effort to keep a natural pose.  Angeli understood that.