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 believe in God is just as illogical as to look at a watch and not to believe in a watchmaker.’”

Ledecký knocked the ashes out of his pipe, saying, “Let us talk of something else. By the way, what do you hear about Miss Jenny of Labutín?”

“She is still in Prague with the family,” replied Cvok.

“And does she not write to you? She used to be so often with you for a talk, that people remarked it in your village and elsewhere on the estate.”

“Miss Jenny is a clever, high-spirited girl; it is a pity that she must go in petticoats. She has a good knowledge of French and other literature, and has, for a woman, a very fair idea of what the aims of literature in general should be. We used to pass the time with excellent talk, and she would often say that in the whole of Labutín there was not one real man or woman; that they were all mere puppets, made up of society manners and insipid phrases.”

“What! not even Baron Mundy?”

“I only repeat what she used to say.”

“And has she not written to you from Prague?”

“She wrote twice in the autumn, but about nothing in particular. Since New Year I have not heard from her.”

Ledecký fixed his eyes penetratingly on Cvok for a moment or two, and then muttered to himself—

“As guileless as a child!”

At this moment Miss Regina ran into the room quite out of breath.

“Be quick, your reverence!” she cried excitedly. “Make haste! It’s sitting again on the plum tree near the beehives!”

Ledecký jumped up, snatched a gun that was hanging