And now the most joyous thing commenced for Yura—­the fairy tale.  The people and the festival and the lanterns remained on earth, while he soared away, transformed into air, melting in the night like a grain of dust.  The great mystery of the night became his mystery, and his little heart yearned for still more mystery; in its solitude his heart yearned for the fusion of life and death.  That was Yura’s second madness that evening—­he became invisible.  Although he could enter the kitchen as others did, he climbed with difficulty upon the roof of the cellar over which the kitchen window was flooded with light and he looked in; there people were roasting something, busying themselves, and did not know that he was looking at them—­and yet he saw everything!  Then he went away and looked at papa’s and mamma’s bedroom; the room was empty; but the beds had already been made for the night and a little image lamp was burning—­he saw that.  Then he looked into his own room; his own bed was also ready, waiting for him.  He passed the room where they were playing cards, also as an invisible being, holding his breath and stepping so lightly, as though he were soaring in the air.  Only when he reached the garden, in the dark, he drew a proper breath.  Then he resumed his quest.  He came over to people who were talking so near him that he could touch them with his hand, and yet they did not know that he was there, and they continued to speak undisturbed.  He watched Ninochka for a long time until he learned all her life—­he was almost trapped.  Ninochka even exclaimed: 

“Yurochka, is that you?”

He lay down behind a bush and held his breath.  Thus Ninochka was deceived.  And she had almost caught him!  To make things more mysterious, he started to crawl instead of walk—­now the alleys seemed full of danger.  Thus a long time went by—­according to his own calculations at the time, ten years went by, and he was still hiding and going ever farther away from the people.  And thus he went so far that he was seized with dread—­between him and the past, when he was walking like everybody else, an abyss was formed over which it seemed to him impossible to cross.  Now he would have come out into the light but he was afraid—­it was impossible; all was lost.  And the music was still playing, and everybody had forgotten him, even mamma.  He was alone.  There was a breath of cold from the dewy grass; the gooseberry bush scratched him, the darkness could not be pierced with his eyes, and there was no end to it.  O Lord!

Without any definite plan, in a state of utter despair, Yura now crawled toward a mysterious, faintly blinking light.  Fortunately it turned out to be the same arbour which was covered with wild grapes and in which father and mother had sat that day.  He did not recognise it at first!  Yes, it was the same arbour.  The lights of the lanterns everywhere had gone out, and only two were still burning; a yellow little lantern