Ladislaus complied in every particular with Miss Anney's injunctions for, immediately after she left, he dozed again and did not waken until the rays of the sun, which had ascended high in the heaven, fell on his head. He then knit his brows and, having partly shaken off his drowsiness, requested that the roller-blinds be lowered. The black-haired maid approached the window, wishing to lower them, but as she did this too eagerly and did not retain her hold on the string, the roller-blind dropped so suddenly that it loosened completely from the fastenings and tumbled down on the window sill. Then the maid, ashamed of her awkwardness, leaped upon the chair and from the chair to the sill and began to place anew the rollers in the rings. Krzycki looked at her bent form; at her upraised arms and at her black coiled hair, with a not yet conscious gaze, blinking his eyes as if he could not recall for the time being who that was; and not until she jumped from the frame, displaying at the same time graceful and plump limbs in black stockings, did he know who was before him; and he said:
"Ah! It is Panna Pauly."
"It is I," answered the girl. "I beg your pardon for making so much noise."
She blushed like a rose under his glance, and he recollected how he once saw her attired only in azure watery pearls; so he gazed at her with greater curiosity and said:
"That does not matter. I thank you, little Miss, for your solicitude."
At the same time, as a sign of gratitude, he moved the hand lying on the bed-quilt but feeling simultaneously a piercing pain, he made a wry face and hissed.
And she sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over him, and asked with intense anxiety:
"Does it pain?"
"It does."
"Can I hand you anything? Shall I call any one?"
"No, no."
For a certain time, silence followed. Ladislaus frowned and clinched his teeth; after which, drawing a deep breath, he said, as if with a certain rage:
"This was done for me by those scoundrels."
"Oh, if they only fell into my hands," she replied through her set teeth.
Such a fathomless hatred glistened in her eyes and her entire countenance assumed such an expression of cruelty, that it might serve as a model for a Gorgon face. Ladislaus was so astonished at this sight that he forgot about his pain.
Again silence ensued. The maid recollected herself after a while, but her cheeks grew so pale that the dark down above her lips became more marked:
She then asked: "What can I do to relieve you?"
Her voice now rang with such cordial solicitude that Ladislaus smiled and answered:
"Nothing, unless it be to commiserate with me."
And in a moment she was transported with spasmodic grief; she flung her face at his feet, and, embracing them with her arms, began to kiss them through the quilt. Her raven-like head and bent body shook from sobbing.
"Why little lady! Panna Pauly!" cried Ladislaus.
And he was compelled to repeat this several times before she heard him. Finally she rose and, covering her eyes with her hands, went to the window, pressed her face against the pane, and for some time remained motionless. Afterwards she began to wipe her eyes and readjust her hair, as if in fear that somebody, entering unexpectedly, might surmise what had taken place.
In the meantime, all the moments in which he had come in contact with her coursed through Ladislaus' mind, commencing with meeting her on the dark path, when she told him that a were-wolf did not look like that, and the vision in the bath-room, until his conversation with her, after that vision, on the yoked elm grove near the pond. He recalled how from that time she alternately reddened and grew pale at the sight of him; how she drooped her eyes and how she sent them after him whenever it seemed to her that he was not observing. From one view, Ladislaus accepted this as the sequel of the incident in the bath-room; from another as admiration for his shapeliness. This admiration, indeed, flattered his masculine vanity, but he did not give it much thought, as, having his mind absorbed with Miss Anney, her servant did not concern him. Now, however, he understood that this was something more than the blandishments of an artful chambermaid after a handsome young heir, and that this maiden had become distractedly infatuated with him and in a kind of morbid manner. His love for Miss Anney was too deep and true for him to be pleased with such a state of affairs or for him to think that after his wounds were healed he could take advantage of the maiden's feelings in the fashion of a gallant. On the contrary, the thought that he had unwittingly aroused such feelings appeared disagreeable and irksome to him. He was seized by a fear of what might result from it. There came to him, as if in a vision, troubles, scenes, and entanglements, which such a passion might produce. He understood that this was a fire with which he could not thoughtlessly play; that he would have to be careful and not give her any encouragement. He decided also, notwithstanding the pity and sympathy he felt in the depth of his heart for the maiden, to avoid in the future all conversations, all jests, and everything which might draw her nearer to him, encourage intimacy, or provoke in the future outbursts similar to the one of that day. It even occurred to him to request Miss Anney not to send her to him any more, but he abandoned that resolution, observing that it might cause sorrow or cast upon him a shadow of ludicrousness. Finally he came to the conclusion that above all it was incumbent upon him not to ask the maid about anything; not to demand any explanation as to the meaning of that outbreak and those tears, and to behave coolly and distantly.
In the meantime the maiden, at the window, having regained her composure, again approached the bed and spoke in a meek and hesitating voice:
"I beg your pardon, sir. Be not angry at me, sir."
He closed his eyes and only after an interval replied:
"Little lady, I am not angry, but I need peace."
"I beg pardon," she repeated yet more meekly.
However she observed that he spoke in a different tone, drier and colder than previously, and intense uncertainty was depicted upon her countenance, for she did not know whether this was the momentary dissatisfaction of the patient, who, in reality, did desire quiet or whether it was the displeasure of the young heir at her--a servant maid--having dared to betray her feelings. Fearing, however, to again offend him, she became silent and seating herself upon the chair which Miss Anney had occupied, she took from the commode the work which previously had been brought and began to sew, glancing from time to time with great uneasiness, and as if in fear, at Ladislaus. He also cast stealthy glances at her, and seeing her regular features, as if carved out of stone, her sharply outlined brows, the dark down above her lips, and the energetic, almost inflexible, expression of her face, he thought that it would be much easier for a man who could arouse the thoughts and feelings of such a girl to form various ties than later to be able to free himself from them.
Contrary to expectations, the doctor did not arrive that day, owing to an unusual number of engagements and a few important operations which he was compelled to perform without delay. Instead, he sent a young hospital attendant, skilled in dressing wounds, with a letter in which he requested Gronski to inform the ladies that they should consider his postponed visit as proof that no danger actually threatened the wounded man. Ladislaus, however was not pleased with this news, for the wounds tormented him acutely; particularly the flesh torn by the bullet along the ribs afflicted him painfully; and besides, his mother felt worse. The asthmatic spell recurred, after which a general weakness followed, so that notwithstanding her warmest wishes she was not able to rise from her bed. Pani Otocka did not leave her for the entire day, and at night her place was to be taken by Miss Anney, who, however, needing rest after the recent events and, passing a sleepless night, was sent to sleep by both sisters and Gronski. The rôle of the housekeeper of Jastrzeb was assumed by Marynia, for she wanted by all means to be useful, and was not permitted to attend to the patients. Instead, she was intrusted with all the keys; the management of the house; with conferring and taking an accounting with the cook whom she feared a little and did not like, because he looked upon her as if she was a child who was amusing herself rather than one upon whose shoulders rested the responsibility of superintending everything. She adopted a mien full of importance, but nevertheless "the dear gentleman," that is Gronski, had to promise that he would be present, as if by chance, in the room when the accounting was taking place.
As, after the arrival of the doctor on the third day, it appeared that Ladislaus' condition was quite favorable and Pani Krzycki's asthmatic spells were leaving her and her nerves were getting in order, the general aspect of Jastrzeb became calmer and happier. Dolhanski began to fill with a certain humor the rôle of a generalissimo of all the armed forces of Jastrzeb while Gronski played the part of military governor. The doctor brought with him a second nurse, who thenceforth was to alternate with the one who came previously. This relieved the ladies of the house of the necessity of continual watchfulness and unnecessary fatigue. Ladislaus alone was dissatisfied with the arrangement, for he understood that now Miss Anney would not pass days and nights in his chamber, and that in all probability he would not see her until he was able to leave his bed. In fact, it happened that way. Several times during the day she would come to the anteroom, send through the attendants whatever was needed, inquire about his health and also send a "good-night" or "good-day" but would not enter the room. Ladislaus sighed, swore quietly, and made life miserable for his attendants, and when he learned from Dolhanski of the enthusiasm with which the doctor spoke of Miss Anney he began to suspect him of purposely sending the attendants in order to make it more difficult for him to see her. His mother rose the fourth day and, feeling much better, visited him daily and sat up with him for hours. Ladislaus often asked himself the question whether she surmised his feelings. They were indeed known to all the guests in the house, but there was a possibility that she did not suspect anything, as for a considerable time before the occurrence in the forest she did not, in truth, leave her room; in consequence of which she seldom saw her son and Miss Anney together. Krzycki often deliberated over the question whether he should speak with his mother at once about it or defer the matter to a later date. In favor of the first thought, there was the consideration that his mother, while he lay in bed wounded, would not dare to interpose any strenuous objections from fear that his condition might grow worse. But on the other hand, such calculation, in which his beloved one and the whole happiness of his life were involved, appeared to him that day as miserable craftiness. He thought besides that to extort an assent from his mother through his sickness would be something derogatory to Miss Anney, before whom the doors of the Jastrzeb manor-house and the arms of the entire family should be widely and joyfully opened. But he was restrained by another consideration. And this was that, notwithstanding the conversation he at one time had with Gronski, notwithstanding the words he exchanged with the lady, notwithstanding her solicitude, her sacrifices, and the courage with which she did not hesitate to drive for the doctor, and finally notwithstanding the visible marks of feeling which could be discerned in every glance she bestowed upon him, Ladislaus doubted and did not dare to believe in his own good fortune. He was young, inexperienced, in love not only up to his ears but like a student; therefore full of alternating uncertainties, hopes, joys, and doubts. He doubted also himself. At times he felt at his shoulders wings, as it were, and in his soul a desire for lofty flights; a latent ability to perform acts clearly heroic; and at other times he thought: "Who am I, that such a flower should fall upon my bosom? There are people who are endowed with talent; who possess education; and others who have millions, and I, what? I am a mere nobleman farmer, who will all his life dig the soil, like a mole. Have I then the right to pinion to such a life, or rather to confine in a sort of cage such a paradisiacal bird, which soars freely across the firmament for the delectation and admiration of mankind?" And he was seized by despair. But when he pictured to himself that the moment might arrive when this paradisiacal bird might fly away forever from him, then he looked upon it with amazement as if upon a calamity which he did not deserve. He also had his hours of hope, especially in the morning when he felt better and stronger. Then he recalled everything that had taken place between them, from her first arrival at Jastrzeb and his meeting her at Zarnowski's funeral until that last night when he pressed her hand to his lips and gained greater confidence. Why, at that time, she told him "not a word about anything until the wounds are healed." Therefore through that alone she gave to him the right to repeat to her that she was dearer to him than the whole world and to surrender into her hands his fate, his future, and his entire life. Let her do with them what she will.
In the meanwhile his mother will accustom herself to her, will grow more intimate, and become more attached to her. And her maternal heart is so full of admiration and gratitude for what Miss Anney had done for him that from her lips fell the words "God sent her here." Ladislaus smiled at the thought that his mother, however, ascribed the sacrifices and courage of the young maiden not to any ardent feeling but to an exceptionally honest heart, as well as to English training, which was conducive to energy alike in men and women. And she had likewise repeated to Pani Otocka several times that she would like to bring up her Anusia to be such a brave woman; give her such strength, health, and such love for her "fellow-men." Pani Otocka smiled also, hearing these praises, and Ladislaus thought that Miss Anney perhaps would not have done the same for her fellow-men, and this thought filled him with happiness.
Eventually he became quite certain that his mother would consent to his marriage with Miss Anney, but he was anxious as to how she would agree. And in this regard he was much distressed. His mother, judged by former requirements and conceptions, was a person of more than medium education. She possessed high social refinement, read a number of books, and was proficient in the French and Italian languages. During her younger days she passed considerable time abroad, but only her closest friends could tell how many national and hereditary prejudices were concealed in her and to what extent all that was not Polish, particularly if it did not of necessity come from France, appeared to her peculiar, outlandish, strange, and even shocking. This appeared accidentally once before the attack upon Ladislaus when she saw Miss Anney's English prayer-book and, opening it, noticed a prayer beginning with "Oh Lord." Belonging to a generation which did not study English, and having lived in retirement for many years in Jastrzeb, Pani Krzycki could not imagine the Lord other than a being with yellow whiskers, dressed in checkered clothes, and to Marynia's great amusement could not by any means understand how the Divinity could be thus addressed. In vain Ladislaus explained to her that in the French and Polish languages analogical titles are given to God. She regarded that as something different, and exacted a promise from Miss Anney that she would pray from a Polish book, which she promised to buy for her.
Finally the fact that Miss Anney was not in all probability a member of the nobility would play an important part. Ladislaus feared that his mother, having consented to the marriage, might in the depths and secrecy of her soul, deem it a mésalliance. This thought irritated and depressed him immeasurably and was one of the reasons why he postponed his consultation with his mother until their arrival in Warsaw.
He was angered yet more at his enforced confinement in his bed; so that for three days he declared each evening that he would rise the following morning, and when on the fourth day Miss Anney and Marynia said to him through the doorway, "Good-day," he actually did get up, but in his weakened condition, he suffered from dizziness and was forced to lie down again. He was steadily improving, however; he continued to sigh more and more and felt his inactivity most keenly.
"I have got enough of this loquacious doctor," he said to Gronski, "enough of dressings and iodoform. I envy not only you, sir, but even Dolhanski, who is roaming about on my horses all over creation, and very likely reaches as far as Gorek."
"He does," answered Gronski gayly, "and this leads me to think that he makes a mystery of it, for he has ceased to talk about those ladies."
This was but a half truth for Dolhanski did actually go to Gorek but did not remain entirely silent about the ladies, for returning the next day, he entered Ladislaus' room, bearing with him still the odor of the horse, and said:
"Imagine to yourself that the Wlocek ladies received a command from some kind of committee from under a dark star to pay under the penalty of death one thousand roubles for 'party' purposes."
"There you have it!" cried Gronski. "Now that is becoming an every-day occurrence. Who knows whether similar commands are not awaiting us upon our desks in Warsaw?"
"Well, what of it?" asked Ladislaus.
"Nothing," answered Dolhanski; "those ladies first argued as to who was to first expose her breast to shield the other; then fainted; after that they came to, then began to bid each other farewell, and finally asked me my advice as to what was to be done."
"And what advice did you give them?"
"I advised them to tell the executors of the command, who would come for the money, that their plenipotentiary and treasurer, Pan Dolhanski, resided at such and such address in Warsaw."
"Really, did you advise them to do that?"
"I give you my word."
"In such a case, they will undoubtedly call upon you."
"You can imagine what rich booty they will get! I also will have some recreation in these tedious times."
"Pardon me," said Gronski, "the times are trying; that is certain, but no one can say that they are tedious."
"But for whom?" answered Dolhanski. "If I ever borrow money from you, then I will have to conform to your inclination, but before that time you cannot draw me into any political discussion. In the meantime I will only tell you this much, that I am the only social microbe that can remain at perfect peace. All that I require is that 'bridge' should be going normally at the club and soon this will be impossible. These times may be interesting to you but not for me."
"At any rate," observed Gronski, "a certain ventilation of torpid conditions is taking place, and since you compared yourself to a microbe, by the same token, you admit that these are times for disinfection."
At this Dolhanski turned to Ladislaus.
"Thank Gronski," he said, "for the disinfection started with you; from which the plain inference is to be drawn that you are a more harmful microbe than I am."
"Get married, get married," answered Ladislaus banteringly; "for you, a good marriage settlement would be the best cure for pessimism."
"That may be possible, as in that case, I may have something with which I can leave this dear country and settle elsewhere. I once told you that Providence speaks through the lips of little innocents. But I should have thought of marriage when in the perspective there were no Goreks, but instead, four million franks."
"Did you have such an opportunity?"
"As you see me here. It happened in Ostend; an old Belgian relict of a manufacturer of preserves, and having cash to the amount specified, wanted to marry me and that for the waiting."
"And what?"
"And nothing. I remember what Pan Birkowski, who at that time was in Ostend, told me. 'Do business,' he said. 'At the worst, you may leave the old woman two millions and leave her in the lurch, and you can take two millions with you and enjoy yourself like a king.'"
"And what did you say to that?"
"And I said this to that: What is that? Am I to give from my own hard-earned money two millions to an ugly old woman? For nothing! And now I think that for a mere quibble, I permitted a fortune to slip away from me and that the time may come when owing to a 'retirement from business' I will have to sacrifice myself for a smaller price."
Gronski and Ladislaus began to laugh, but Dolhanski, who spoke with greater bitterness than they supposed, shrugged his shoulders and said:
"Amuse yourselves, amuse yourselves. One of you already has received a taste of the times and the other, God grant, will not escape so easily. Nice times, indeed! Chaos, anarchy, political orgy, lack of any kind of authority, the dance of dynamite with the knout, and the downfall of 'bridge.' And you laugh!"
Nevertheless that which Dolhanski said about a want of any kind of authority appeared to be not exactly the truth, for, after an interval of one week, the authorities did give signs of life.
An imposing armed force, together with gendarmes and police, made its appearance.
Of course the perpetrators of the attempt upon Krzycki did not wait a whole week for the arrival at Jastrzeb of a military relief, as they evidently had engagements in other parts of the county. As a result the Jastrzeb, as well as the Rzeslewo, forests appeared to be deserted.
In lieu of this, about a score of men in Jastrzeb, itself, were placed under arrest. Among these were the two forest rangers, the old coachman who was wounded at the time of the attack, and all the workingmen at the sawmill.
In the manor-house all the passports were verified with exceeding care, reports were written, and the host, hostess, and guests, not excluding the ladies, were subjected to a strict examination.
From these examinations it developed that in reality they did not come on account of the attempt upon the proprietor of Jastrzeb, but for the purpose of apprehending a dangerous revolutionist, a certain Laskowicz, who, according to the most reliable information secured by the police, was hiding in Jastrzeb and was shielded by its denizens.
The declaration of the Krzyckis to the police, that in due season the passport of Laskowicz was forwarded, and if Laskowicz had left the city he must have received it, as well as the assurances of all present that Laskowicz was not in Jastrzeb did not find any credence.
The authorities were too experienced and shrewd to believe such nonsense and they detected in them "an evil design, and want of sincerity and cordial candor."
The house also was subjected to a most painstaking search, beginning in the garret and ending in the cellar. They knocked on the walls to ascertain whether there were any secret hiding places. They searched among the dresses and linen of the women; in the hearth, under the divans, in the drawers, in the boxes for phenicine pastilles, which Gronski brought with him; and finally in the manor outbuildings, in the mangers of the stable, in the milk churners, in the tar-boxes, and even in the beehives, whose inmates, undoubtedly being permeated with the evil-disposition prevalent in Jastrzeb, resisted the search in a manner as evil disposed as it was painful.
But as the search, notwithstanding its thoroughness and the intelligence with which it was conducted, was not productive of any results, they took a hundred and some tens of books, the farm register, the entire private correspondence of the hosts as well as the guests, the bone counters used in playing cards, a little bell with a Napoleonic figure, a safety razor, a barometer, and, notwithstanding the license which Krzycki possessed, all the fowling pieces, not excepting a toy-gun with which corks were shot and which belonged to little Stas.
Ladislaus himself would have been undoubtedly arrested as an accomplice, if the doctor, who treated the captain for his heart trouble, had not arrived and if Dolhanski, growing impatient beyond all endurance, had not shown the captain a message before sending it to the city. It was addressed to the highly influential general W., with whom Dolhanski played whist at the club, and it complained of the brutality and the arbitrariness of the search.
This to a considerable extent cooled off the ardor of the captain and his subordinates, who previously, at the scrutiny of the passports, had learned that Dolhanski was a member of the club.
In this manner Ladislaus preserved his liberty, supplemented by police surveillance, and little Stas regained his toy-gun for shooting corks. The captain could not return the arms as he had peremptory orders in black and white to confiscate even the ancient fowling-pieces of the whole community.
"Doux pays! Doux pays!" cried Dolhanski after the departure of the police. "Revolvers now can be found only in the hands of the bandits. In view of this I will submit to a demission as the commander-in-chief of the Jastrzeb armed forces, land as well as naval. We are now dependent upon the kindness or unkindness of fate."
"Go to Warsaw, ladies and gentlemen, to-morrow," said the doctor; "here there is no joking."
"Let us go to Warsaw," repeated Dolhanski, "and, not losing any time, enroll in the ranks of the believers in expropriation. I regard social revolutionists as the only insurance association in this country which does really insure."
"From accidents," added Krzycki; "and we shall insure with my personal friend and 'accomplice' Laskowicz."
To this Dolhanski replied:
"That accomplice gave you a payment on account. In the future you will receive yet more."
To Gronski's mind came thoughts of the personal enmity of the young medical student to Krzycki and the letter of Laskowicz to Marynia, of which he among the men in Jastrzeb alone knew.
It was quite probable that Laskowicz saw in Ladislaus a rival and future aspirant for the hand of Panna Marynia who, besides, had nipped in the bud his work in Rzeslewo and that he might have thought that he actually could gratify his hatred from personal consideration, and in the name of the "cause."
Laskowicz, himself, in his own way, might have been an honest man, but the party ethics were, in relation to the antiquated morality, revolutionary, and sanctioned such things.
But at present there was not much time to ponder over that; so after a while Gronski waved his hand and said:
"Whether or not the hand of Laskowicz is imbrued in this the future will show. Now we must think of something else. I assert positively that I will take away my ladies from here, but I wish that the entire Jastrzeb family would follow my example."
After which, he addressed the doctor.
"Would it be safe for Ladislaus to travel to-morrow?"
"He? Even as far as England," answered the doctor.
Gronski and Dolhanski laughed at these words but Ladislaus blushed like a student and said:
"It will be necessary to inform the ladies."
"And to-morrow the general exodus will take place," added Gronski.
And he went to the ladies, who received the news of the decision with evident relief. Both sisters decided to have Pani Krzycki at their residence in Warsaw, but she, desiring to be with her son, would not accept the invitation; and only consented when Gronski announced that he would take Ladislaus to his home and guaranteed that he should not suffer for want of care and comfort. Miss Anney, whose apartments were directly opposite to those of Pani Otocka also offered her rooms for the use of the younger members of the Krzycki family and their female teachers. In the meanwhile the doctor permitted Ladislaus to get up, so that he would not have to start on his journey directly from his bed. In the evening the entire company assembled on the garden veranda. There was missing only Dolhanski who rode off to Gorek, for he had decided to advise Pani Wlocek and Panna Kajetana to remove to the city likewise. Ladislaus, after a considerable loss of blood and a somewhat lengthy confinement in bed, looked pale and miserable, but his countenance had acquired a more subtile expression and actually become handsome. At the present time the ladies were occupied with him, as an invalid, with extraordinary watchfulness. He was a person who attracted general sympathy; therefore, though from time to time his eyes grew dim, he assured his mother that it was well with him, and he really was delighted to breathe the fresh evening air. At times he was overcome by a light drowsiness. Then he closed his eyelids and the conversation hushed, but when he opened them again he saw directed towards himself the eyes of his mother and, illuminated by the setting sun, the young faces of the ladies, which appeared to him simply angelic. He was surrounded by love and friendship; therefore it was well with him. His heart surged with feelings of gratitude, and at the same time with regret that those good Jastrzeb days would soon end. In his soul he cherished a hope that he would not be absent from Jastrzeb long, and promised himself a speedy return, and he promised this with all the strength with which a person craves happiness. Nevertheless, the times were so strange, so uncertain, and so many things might happen which it was impossible to foresee, that involuntarily a fear generated in his heart as to what turn the current of events would take; what the future of the country would be, and what, in a year or two, would become of Jastrzeb, which, indeed, became precious to him for it opened before him the portals, beyond which he beheld the great brightness of happiness. Love, as well as a bird, needs a nest. So Ladislaus plainly could not conceive of himself and the light-haired lady being anywhere else than at Jastrzeb. For this, his heart beat with redoubled force, when glancing at her, he indulged in fancies and imagined that perhaps after a year, or sooner, she will sit upon the same veranda, as the lady of the house and as his wife. Then he turned towards her and asked her with his soul and eyes: "Dost thou guess and perceive my thoughts?" But she, perhaps because she was restrained by the presence of so many witnesses, did not reply to his glances; sitting as if immersed in thought and letting her gaze follow the swallows, which flitted so nimbly above the trees of the garden and the pond. Ladislaus, when he now looked at her was impressed, as if with certain admiration, at the contrast between her full-grown form, powerful arms, and well developed bosom and her small, girlish face. But he saw in all this only a new charm and spell under whose powers there flew at times through his love a burning desire similar indeed to pain and stifling the breath in his breast.
In the meantime the sun sank measurably and began to bathe in the ruddy evening twilight. From the freshly mown lawns came a strong fragrance of the little hay heaps, which were warmed by the daily summer heat. Somehow the air with the approach of night became more bracing, for, from the alder-trees bordering on the pond, came from time to time a cool breath, so weak and light, however, that the leaves on the trees did not stir. The swallows described curves higher and higher above the reddened surface of the pond. In the lofty poplars with trimmed tops a stork clattered in his nest, now stooping with his head backward and then lowering it as if bowing to the setting sun or officiating at the evening vespers.
"I will play something as a farewell to Jastrzeb," Marynia suddenly announced.
"Ah, beloved creature!" said Gronski; "shall I go for the stand and notes?"
"No. I will play something from memory."
And saying this, she handed to Miss Anney an album with views of Jastrzeb, and hurried upstairs. In a short time she returned with her violin. For a time she kept it propped on her shoulder and raising her eyes upwards, considered what she should play. She selected Schumann's "Ich grolle nicht." The overflowing tones filled the quiet of the garden. They began to sing, muse, long, and weep; oscillate, hush, and slumber, and with them the human soul acted in unison. Sorrow became more melancholy, yearning more longing, and love more tender and deeply enamoured. And "the little divinity" continued playing--white in her muslin dress--calm, with pensive eyes lost somewhere in the illimitable distance, immaculate, and as if borne to heaven by music and her own playing. To Gronski it seemed that he had before him some kind of mystic lily, and he began in his soul to say to her, as it were, a litany, in which every word was a worship of the little violinist, because she was playing and she awoke in him a love as destitute of the slightest earthly dross as if she were not a maiden composed of blood and flesh, but in reality some kind of mystic lily.
Marynia had ceased to play and her hand, with the violin, hung at her side. No one thanked her; no one uttered a word, for the strains of that music lingered with all and, echo-like, it was yet playing within them. Pani Otocka unwittingly drew nearer to Gronski as if they were attracted towards each other by their mutual worship of this beloved child. In Pani Krzycki's eyes glittered tears, which under the spell of the music were contributed and provoked by memories of former years and the present suffering of her son and fresh worries about him, and the uncertainty of the future. Miss Anney sat in reverie, holding unknowingly between her knees the album, which during Marynia's playing had dropped from her hands; and through the open doors, in the already dimmed depths of the salon, could be seen the indistinct form of a woman, who evidently also was listening to the music.
A somewhat stronger breeze which blew from the alder-trees awoke all, as if from a half-dream. Then Pani Krzycki turned towards her son:
"A chill is coming from the pond. Perhaps you may wish to return to your room."
"No," he answered, "I feel better than I have felt for a long time."
And he began to assure her that he did not feel any chill and afterwards appealed to the doctor, who, lulled to sleep by the music, could not at once understand what was the matter.
"Can Laudie remain?" asked Pani Krzycki.
"He can, he can; only as soon as the sun disappears, it will be necessary to cover him better."
Afterwards the doctor looked at his watch and added:
"It is time for me to go, but I have had so few evenings like this that it is a hardship to leave. As God sees, it is a hardship."
And here he began to rub his fatigued brow with the palm of his hand. Pani Krzycki and Ladislaus declared that they would not permit him to leave before supper. The doctor again looked at his watch, but before he could make any reply there appeared upon the veranda the same feminine figure that had been listening to the music in the depths of the parlor, but this time with two plaids upon her arm.
"Is that you, Pauly?" said Miss Anney. "Ah, how sensible you are."
And Panna Pauly began to cover Ladislaus with the plaids. She placed one over his shoulders and the other around his limbs. In doing this she knelt and bent in such a way that for a moment her breast rested on Krzycki's knee.
"Thank you, little Miss, thank you," he said, somewhat confused.
She glanced quickly into his eyes and then left without a word.
"But I have taken your plaids," Ladislaus said addressing Miss Anney.
"That does not matter. I am dressed warmly. Only, you, sir, will have to take care that the wounded shoulder is well covered."
And approaching him, she began to push lightly and carefully a corner of the plaid between the back of the chair and his shoulder.
"I am not hurting you?" she asked.
"No, no. How can I thank you?"
And he looked at her with such enamoured eyes that for the first time it occurred to his mother that there might be something more than gratitude in this.
She glanced once or twice at Pani Zosia's delicate countenance, and sighed, and her heart was oppressed with fear, disquiet, and regret. This was her ideal for her son; this was her secret fancy. She, indeed, had fallen in love with her whole soul with the young Englishwoman, and if foreign blood did not course in her veins, she would not have had any objections, but nevertheless this first fleeting suspicion that the structure, which she, in her soul, had erected from the moment she became intimate with Zosia, might crumble, was to her immeasurably disagreeable. For a time she felt, as it were, a dislike for Miss Anney. She determined also from that moment to observe them both more carefully, and to speak with Gronski.
But in the further course of the evening her hopes revived, for when the company returned to the salon it seemed to her after a time that what she had seen on the veranda was an illusion. In fact that day did not end for Ladislaus and Miss Anney as serenely as the setting sun had augured. A cooler wind blew between them, and Pani Krzycki could not know that the reason for it, on the part of her boy, was jealousy. Miss Anney, after the return to the parlor, began, on the side, a conversation with the doctor which continued so long that Ladislaus became irritated. He observed that she spoke not only with animation, but also with a desire to please. He saw the brightened visage of the doctor, from which it was easy to read that the conversation afforded him sincere pleasure, and a serpent stung Ladislaus' heart. He could not overhear what Miss Anney was saying. It seemed to him only that she was urging something. On the other hand, the doctor could not speak so quietly, but to Krzycki's eavesdropping ears from time to time came such fragmentary expressions as "I intended to do that, only after a week"; "Ha!" "Some may object"; "If that is the case, very well"; "It is well known how England conquers"; "Good, good."
Ladislaus decided with all possible coolness to ask Miss Anney whom England had now subjugated and whether the newspapers had made any mention of it, but when Miss Anney and the doctor at the conclusion of their tête-à-tête had rejoined the rest of the company, he changed his plan and, with the offended dignity of a schoolboy who is ready not only to spite those dear to him but also himself, he determined to cover himself with the cloak of indifference. With this view he turned to Zosia and began to inquire about the Zalesin estate and begged her permission to inspect it; and she told him that it would give her great pleasure. He thanked her so warmly that his mother was led into an error. Miss Anney tried several times to participate in the conversation, but receiving from him indifferent replies, surprised and slightly touched, began to listen to what Gronski was saying.
After supper the doctor announced that he would have to leave. For a while he spoke with Gronski, and then took his leave of the ladies, repeating, "Until to-morrow; at the railway station." He advised Ladislaus to return immediately to his room and secure a good rest before proceeding on his journey. Gronski, after escorting the doctor to the gate, accompanied Ladislaus to his room, and when they found themselves alone, perceiving his mien and easily surmising the cause asked: "What ails you? You are so agreeable."
And Krzycki answered with some irritation: "I am still feeling weak; otherwise I am as usual."
But Gronski shrugged his shoulders.
"These," said he, "are the usual misunderstandings of lovers, but you, above all, are a child and caused her unpleasantness. And do you know what for? Simply because she urged Szremski to accompany you to Warsaw."
Ladislaus' heart quivered, but he put a good face on a bad matter and would not yet be reconciled.
"I do not feel at all weak and can get along without his assistance."
To this Gronski replied:
"Good-night to you and your logic."
And he left the room.
But Ladislaus when he was undressed and in bed, suddenly felt tears welling in his eyes and began with extraordinary tenderness to beg pardon of--the pillow.
Gronski, who by nature was very obliging and devoted to his friends, was at the same time a man of ample means and high culture; in consequence of which Ladislaus found in his home not only such care as sincere good will alone can bestow, and comforts, but also various things which were lacking in Jastrzeb. He found, especially, books, a few paintings, engravings, and various small objects of vertu; moreover, the residence was spacious, well-ventilated, and not over-crowded with unnecessary articles. Thanks to the host a highly intellectual and esthetic atmosphere prevailed, in which the young heir felt indeed smaller and less self-confident than in Jastrzeb, but which he breathed with pleasure. He was seized, however, with a fear that by a lengthy stay he would cause his older friend trouble, and on the following evening he began to argue with Gronski about going to a hotel.
"Even the doctor considers me well," he said. "The best proof of it is that he permits me to go about the city in three days."
"I heard something about five," answered Gronski.
"But that was yesterday; so, not counting to-day, three remain. You have your habits which you must not change on my account. It is indeed a pleasure to look at all these things; so I will come here, but it is one thing to visit you for an hour, or even two, and another to introduce confusion into your mode of life."
"I will only say this," answered Gronski, "Pani Otocka and Panna Marynia regard me as an old bachelor and promised to make a call to-morrow, or the day after, as they have often done before, in the company of Miss Anney. Do you see that armchair? On it, during the music-playing, sat your light-haired beauty. Go, go to the hotel, and we will see who, besides your mother, will visit you."
"You are too good."
"I am an old egotist. You see that I have a few old household effects, which, during the course of my life, I have collected; but one thing, though I were as rich as Morgan and Jay Gould combined, I can unfortunately never buy, and that is youth. And you have so much of it that you could establish a bank and issue stock. From you rays plainly emanate. Let them illuminate and warm me a little. In other words, do not worry, and keep quiet if you are comfortable here with me."
"I only do not desire to be spoiled by too much attention, for, speaking sincerely, I feel I am strong enough now."
"So much the better. Thank God, Miss Anney, and the doctor that the journey did not injure you. That is what I feared a little."
"It did not hurt me, neither did it help."
"How is that?"
"Because I had a hope that on the road I could tell my bright queen that which I hid in my soul, but in the meantime it developed that this was a foolish hope. We sat in the compartment like herrings. The doctor hung over me continually, like a hangman over a good soul, and there was not a chance, even for a moment."
"Never, never make any avowals in a railway car, for in the rumble and noise the most pathetic passages are lost. Finally, as Laskowicz has not dispatched you to the other world, you will easily find an opportunity."
"Do you really think that it was the work of Laskowicz?"
"No. But if ever I should ascertain that it was he, I would not be much surprised; for such a situation, in which one could gratify self and serve a good cause, occurs rarely."
"How gratify self and serve a good cause?"
"Good in his judgment. Do you not live from human sweat and blood?"
"That is very true. But why should my death afford him any gratification personally?"
"Because he has conceived a hatred for you; has fallen in love with some one and regards you as a rival."
Hearing this, Ladislaus jumped up as if scalded.
"What, would he dare?"
"I assure you that he would dare," replied Gronski quietly, "only he made a mistake. But that he is not wanting in courage he gave proofs when he wrote an avowal of love to Marynia."
Ladislaus opened wide his eyes and began to wink:
"What was that?"
"I did not want to speak to you about it in Jastrzeb, as at that time you often drove to the city. I feared that you might meet him and might start a disagreeable brawl. But at present I can tell you every thing; Laskowicz has fallen in love with Marynia and wrote a letter to her, which of course remained unanswered."
"And he thought that I also am in love with Marynia."
"Permit me; that would not be anything extraordinary. He might have overheard something. Whoever is in love usually imagines that every one is reaching after the object of his love. Understand that Laskowicz did not confide in me, but that is my hypothesis which, if it is erroneous, so much the better for Laskowicz. The party sent you a death sentence in consequence of his reports and this was working in his hand for personal reasons. After all, he may not have participated personally in the attempt--"
"Did you see him after that letter?"
"How could I see him, since he wrote after his departure. But it was lucky that I advised Pani Otocka to burn that lucubration, for if the letter had been found during the search at Jastrzeb, you can readily understand what inferences the acuteness of the police might have drawn."
Anger glittered in Ladislaus' eyes.
"I prefer that Miss Anney be not involved," he said; "nevertheless I would not advise Laskowicz to meet me. That such a baboon, as Dolhanski says, should dare to lift his eyes to our female relative in our home and, in addition thereto, write to her--this I regard plainly as an insult which I cannot forgive."
"In all probability you will never meet him; so you will not move a finger."
"I? Then you do not know me. Why not?"
"Among other reasons, out of consideration for our pleasant situation. Consider; duels they will not accept and in this they are right. What then? Will you cudgel him with a cane or pull his ears?"
"That is quite possible."
"Wait! In the first place there was nothing in the letter resembling an insult and, again, what further? The police would take you both into custody, and there they would discover that they had caught Laskowicz, a revolutionary bird, whom they have been seeking for a long time and would send him to Siberia, or even hang him. Can you take anything like that upon your conscience?"
"May the deuce take these times," cried Ladislaus. "A man is always in a situation from which there is no escape."
"As is usual between two anarchies," answered Gronski. "After all, this is a slight illustration."
Further conversation was stopped by the entrance of a servant who handed to Gronski a visiting card and he, glancing at it, said:
"Ask him to step in."
Afterwards he asked Ladislaus:
"Do you know Swidwicki?"
"I have heard the name, but am not acquainted with the man."
"He is a relative of Pani Otocka's deceased husband. A very peculiar figure."
At that moment Swidwicki entered the room. He was a man of forty years, bald, tall, lean, with an intelligent and sour face, and at the same time impudent. He was attired carelessly in a suit which appeared to fit him too loosely. He had, however, something which betrayed his connection with the higher social spheres.
"How is Swidwa?" Gronski began.
After which he introduced him to Ladislaus and continued:
"What has happened to you? I have not seen you for an age."
"Why, you were out of the city."
"Yes; but before that time you did not show up for a month."
"In my old age I have become an anchorite."
"Why?"
"Because I am wearied by the folly of men who pass for reasonable beings and by the malice of men who pose as good. Finally, I now roam all over the streets from morning until night. Ah! There exist 'Attic Nights,' 'Florentine Nights,' and I have a desire to write about 'Warsaw Days.' Delightful days! Titles of the separate chapters 'Hands up! The Rabble on Top.' 'Away with the Geese.' Do you know that at this moment there are so many troops patrolling the streets that any one else in my place would have been arrested ten times."
"I know, but how do you manage to avoid it?"
"I walk everywhere as peacefully as if in my own rooms. The way I do it is simple. As often as I am not drunk, I pretend to be drunk. You would not believe what sympathy and respect an intoxicated person commands. And in my opinion this is but just, for whoever is 'under the influence' from morning till night is innocent and well thinking; upon him the so-called social order can rely with confidence."
"Surely. But the social order which depended upon such people would not stand upon steady legs."
"Who, to-day, does stand on steady legs? Doctrines intoxicate more than alcohol--therefore at this moment all are drunk. The empire is staggering, the revolution is reeling, the parties are floundering, and a third person stands on the side and looks on. Soon all will tumble to the ground. Then there will be order, and may it come as soon as possible."
"You ought to be that third person."
"The third person is the German and we are fools. We begin by falling to loggerheads, and have reached such a state that the only salvation for our social soul would be a decent civil war."
Here he became silent and after a while turned to Ladislaus.
"I see that your eyes are wide open, but nevertheless it is so. A civil war is a superb thing. Nothing like it to clarify the situation and purify the atmosphere. But to be led to such a situation and not to be able to create it is the acme of misfortune or folly."
"I confess that I do not understand," said Ladislaus.
Gronski motioned with his hand and remarked:
"Do not attempt to, for after every fifteen minutes of conversation you will not know what is black and what is white and your head will swim, or you will get a fever, which as a wounded man you should try to avoid."
"True," said Swidwicki, "I had heard and even read in some newspaper of the occurrence and paid close attention to it because in your home Pan Gronski and Pani Otocka with her sister were being entertained. I am a relative of the late aged Otocka. Those women must have been scared. But if they think that they are safer here in the city they are mistaken."
"Judging from what can be seen, it is really no safer here. Have you seen those ladies yet?"
"No, I do not like to go there."
At this, Ladislaus, who by nature was impetuous and bold, frowned, and looking Swidwicki in the eyes, replied:
"I do not ask the reason, for that does not interest me, but I give you warning that they are my relatives."
"Whose cause a young knight would have to champion," answered Swidwicki, gazing at Ladislaus. "Ah, no! If I had any intention of saying anything against the ladies I would not say it, as Gronski would throw me down the stairs and I have a favor to ask of him. What I said is the highest praise for them and simply gall and wormwood for me."
"Beg pardon, again; I do not understand."
"For you see that for the average Pole to have respect for any one and not to be able to sharpen his teeth upon him is always annoying. I cannot speak of the ladies as I would wish, that is, disparagingly. I cannot endure ideal women; besides that, whenever it happens that I pass an evening with them, I become a more decent man and that is a luxury which in these times we cannot afford."
Ladislaus began to laugh and Gronski said:
"I told you that surely your head would swim."
After which to Swidwicki:
"If he should get any worse, I will induce him to send the doctor's and apothecary's bill to you."
"If that is the case, I will go," answered Swidwicki, "but you had better come with me into another room for I have some business with you which I prefer to discuss without witnesses."
And, taking leave of Ladislaus, he stepped out. Gronski accompanied him to the ante-room and after a while returned, shrugging his shoulders:
"What a strange gentleman," said Ladislaus. "I hope I am not indiscreet, but did he want to borrow any money from you?"
"Worse," answered Gronski. "This time it was a few Falk engravings. I positively refused as he most frequently returns money or rather he lets you take it out of his annuity, but books, engravings, and such things he never gives back."
"Is he making a collection?"
"On the contrary he throws or gives them away; loans or destroys them. Do I know? You will now have an opportunity of meeting him oftener, for though I refused to loan them, I permitted him to come here to look over and study them. He undoubtedly is writing a book about Falk."
"Ah, so he is a literary man."
"He might have been one. As you will meet him, I must warn you a little against him. I will describe him briefly. He is a man to whom the Lord gave a good name, a large estate, good looks, great ability, and a good heart, and he has succeeded in wasting them all."
"Even a good heart?"
"Inasmuch as he is a rather pernicious person, it is better that he does not write. For you see that it may happen that somebody's brains decay, just as with people, sick with consumption, their lungs decay. But no one has the right to feed the nation with the putrefaction of his lungs or his brains. And there are many like him. He does not act for the public weal but merely for his own private affairs. Do you know how he accounts for not accomplishing anything in his life? In this way: that to do so one must believe and to believe it is necessary to have a certain amount of stupidity which he does not possess. I am not speaking now of religious matters. He simply does not believe that anything can be true or false, just or unjust, good or bad. But Balzac wisely says: 'Qui dit doute, dit impuissance.' Swidwicki is irritated and filled with bitterness by the fact that he is not anything; therefore he saves himself by paradoxes and turns intellectual somersaults. I once saw a clown who amused the public by giving his cap various strange and ridiculous shapes. Swidwicki does the same with truth and logic. He is also a clown, but an embittered and spiteful one. For this reason he always holds an opinion opposite to that of the person with whom he is speaking. This happens particularly when he is drunk, and he gets drunk every night. Then to a patriot he will say that fatherland is folly; in the presence of a believer he will scoff at faith; to a conservative he will say that only anarchy and revolution are worth anything; to the socialist that the proletariat have 'snouts.' I have heard how he thus expressed himself, and only for this reason, that he, 'a superman,' might have something to hit at when the notion seizes him. And thus it is always. In discussion he shines with paradoxes, but sometimes it chances that he says something striking because in all criticism there is some justice. If you wish, I will arrange such a spectacle, though for me he has a certain regard, firstly, because he likes me, and again because I have rendered him a few services in life. He promised to repay me with black ingratitude, but in the meantime he does not molest me with such energy as the others."
"And no one has yet broken his bones," observed Ladislaus.
"He does not, in the least, retreat from that. He himself seeks trouble and there is not a year in which he does not provoke some encounter."
"In the taverns?"
"Not only there. For belonging by name and family connections to the so called higher walks of life, he has many acquaintances there. Two years ago, indeed, the artists gave him a good cudgelling in a tavern; and, for instance, Dolhanski (their dislike is mutual) shot him last spring in a duel."
"Ah, that was when I heard his name; now I remember."
"Perhaps you heard it before, for previously he had a few affairs about women, as, in addition, he is a great ladies' man. Finally he is an unbridled rogue."
"As to women? or up to date?"
"He is not an old man. For some time he has been in the state where he likes not ladies but their maids. Fancy that not long ago he was so smitten with Miss Anney's maid,--the same brunette who nursed you a little in Jastrzeb,--that for a time he was continually dogging her steps. He said that once she reviled him on the stairway but this charmed him all the more."
Krzycki at the mention of the brunette who nursed him in Jastrzeb became so confused that Gronski noticed it, but not knowing what had passed between him and Pauline, judged that the enamoured youth was offended at the thought that such an individual as Swidwicki should bustle about Miss Anney. So desiring to remove the impression, he remarked:
"He says that he does not like to call upon those ladies, but Pani Otocka does not welcome him at all with enthusiasm. She receives him merely out of respect for the memory of her husband, who was his cousin and who, at one time, was the conservator of his estate. After all, it is probable that Swidwicki feels out of place among such ladies."
"For microbes do not love a pure atmosphere."
"This much is certain: there is within him 'a moral insanity.' I have become accustomed to him, but there are certain things in him I cannot endure. You have no idea of the contemptuous pity, the dislike, and the downright hatred with which he expresses himself about everything which is Polish. And here I call a halt. Notwithstanding our good relations, it almost came to a personal encounter between us. For when he began to squirt his bilious wit, a certain night, on all Poland, I said to him, 'That lion is not yet dead, and if he dies we know who alone is capable of kicking at a dying lion.' He did not come here for over a month, but was I not right? I understand how some great hero, who was repaid with ingratitude, might speak with bitterness and venom of his country, but Swidwicki is not a Miltiades or a Themistocles. And such an outpouring of bile is directly pernicious, for he, with his immensely flashing intellect, finds imitators and creates a fashion, in consequence of which various persons who have never done anything for Poland whet their rusty wits upon this whetstone. I understand criticism, though it be inexorable, but when it becomes a horse or rather an ass from which one never dismounts, then it is bad, for it takes away the desire to live from those who, however, must live--and is vile, because it is spitting upon society, is often sinful and, above all, unprecedentedly unfortunate. Pessimism is not reason but a surrogate of reason; therefore, a cheat, such as the merchant who sells chiccory for coffee. And such a surrogate you now meet at every step in life and in literature."
Here Gronski became silent for a while and raised his brows; and Krzycki said:
"From what you say, I see that Swidwicki is a big ape."
"At times, I think that he is a man incredibly wretched, and for that reason I did not break off relations with him. Besides he has for me a kind of attachment and this always disarms one. Finally, I confess openly that I have the purely Polish weakness, which indulges and forgives everything in people who amuse us. He at times is very amusing, especially when in a talking mood and when he is tipsy to a certain degree."
"But finally, if he does not work but talks, from what does he live?"
"He does not belong to the poor class. Once he was very wealthy; later he lost a greater portion of his fortune. But in the end the late Otocki who was a most upright man, and very practical besides, seeing what was taking place, took the matter in his own hands, saved considerable and changed the capital into an annuity. From this Swidwicki receives a few thousand roubles annually, and though he spends more than he ought to, he has something to live upon. If he did not drink, he would have a sufficiency: one passion he does not possess, namely, cards. He says that for cards one must have the intellect of a negro. From just that arose the encounter with Dolhanski. But after all, they could not bear each other of old. Both, as some one had said, are commercial travellers, dealing in cynicism and competing with each other."
"Between the two, I, however, prefer Dolhanski," said Krzycki.
"Because he amuses you, and Swidwicki has not thus far had the opportunity. Eternally, it is the same Polish weakness," answered Gronski.
After a while he added:
"In Dolhanski it is easier to see the bottom."
"And at that bottom, Panna Kajetana."
"At present it may, in truth, be so. Do you know that Dolhanski brought those ladies with him on the train which followed ours? He told me also that they would at once pay a visit to your mother and Pani Otocka."
"You will really call upon them to-day?"
"Yes, I call there daily. But as you are not permitted to go out, I will invite the ladies to come here to-morrow afternoon for tea."
"I thank you most heartily. I am not allowed to go out but I could drive over."
"My servant told me that by order of the Party a strike of the hackdrivers will begin to-morrow morning."
"Then how can those ladies ride over here to-morrow?"
"In the private carriages. Unless they are forbidden to ride in private.--"
"In that case Mother will be unable to see me."
"If it is quiet upon the streets, I will conduct her here and escort her home. At times it is so that one day the streets are turbulent as the sea, and the next, still and deserted. In reality it is a relative security; for whoever goes out to-day in the city cannot feel certain that he will return. If not these then the others may stick in your side a knife or a bayonet. But for women it is comparatively safe."
"Under these circumstances, it would be better if my mother did not visit me at all. I prefer to stay out those three days which Szremski has imposed upon me, to exposing her or any of those ladies to peril. Please postpone that 'five o'clock.'"
"Perhaps it will be necessary to do that. But your mother will not consent to not seeing you for three days. Maybe some one else will importune me that I should not defer the party."
Ladislaus' face glowed with deep and tender joy.
"Tell Mother that worry about her may harm me and cause a fever, and tell that other one that I kiss the hem of her dress."
"No. Such things you must say yourself."
"Oh, that I could not only tell her that as soon as possible, but do it. In the meantime I have a favor to ask of you. Please send your servant to the city. If he is afraid let him call a messenger. I would like to send that other one a few flowers."
"Then send also some to your cousins, as otherwise your mother will be prematurely surprised."
"Surely she would be astonished, for owing to her sickness she saw us so little together that she could not take in the situation. But soon I will confess all to her."
"I will only tell you what Pani Otocka said to me. She said this: 'Let Ladislaus not speak with his mother before his final interview with Aninka as otherwise he would be unable to tell her everything.'"
Krzycki looked Gronski quickly in the eyes.
"And do you not know what the matter is?"
"You know that I have never been accused of a lack of curiosity," answered Gronski, "but I judged that Pani Otocka has sufficient reasons for remaining silent, and, therefore, I did not question her about anything."