Генрик Сенкевич
Children of the Soil
CHAPTER VIII
Mashko’s answer, which Pan Stanislav received two days later, was, “I bought Kremen yesterday.”
Though it might have been foreseen from Marynia’s letter that affairs would take this and no other turn, and the young man was bound to be prepared for it, the news produced the impression of a thunder-clap. It seemed to him that a misfortune had happened, as sudden as it was incurable, – a misfortune for which the whole responsibility fell on him. Pani Emilia, knowing better than any one else Marynia’s attachment to Kremen, had also a presentiment which she could not conceal, that by this sale the difficulty of bringing these two young people nearer each other would be increased greatly.
“If Mashko does not marry Marynia,” said Pan Stanislav, “he will strip old Plavitski in such fashion as to save himself and leave the old man without a copper. If I had sold my claim to the first usurer I met, Plavitski would have wriggled out, paid something, promised more; and the ruin of Kremen would have been deferred for whole years, in the course of which something favorable might have happened; in every case there would have been time to sell Kremen on satisfactory conditions. Now, if they are left without a copper, the fault will be mine.”
But Pani Emilia looked on the affair from another side: “The evil is not in this alone,” said she, “that Kremen is sold. You have caused this sale, and that immediately after seeing Marynia. If some one else had done so, the affair would not have such a significance; but the worst is just this, that Marynia was greatly confident that you would not act thus.”
Pan Stanislav felt this as vividly as she; and since he was accustomed to give himself a clear account of every position, he understood also that Marynia was the same as lost to him. In view of this, one thing remained, – to acknowledge the fact and seek another wife. But Pan Stanislav’s whole soul revolted against this. First, his feeling for Marynia, though sudden, strengthened neither by time nor nearer acquaintance, though resting mainly on the charm, almost exclusively physical, which her form had wrought on him, had grown considerably in recent days. Her letter effected this, and the conviction that he had inflicted a wrong on her. Compassion for her seized him now, and he could not think of her without emotion; in consequence of this, the feeling itself increased through two causes, which play a very important rôle in each masculine heart. First, that energetic, muscular man could never yield passively to the course of events. His nature simply could not endure this. The sight of difficulty roused him to action particularly. Finally, his self-love also was opposed to letting Marynia go. The thought which he must acknowledge to himself sometimes, – that he was only a springe in the hand of that Mashko and one of the means to his objects; that he had let himself be abused, or at least used by the advocate, – filled him with rage. Though Mashko should not receive Marynia’s hand, though the affair should end with Kremen, even that was more than Pan Stanislav could suffer. Now an irrestrainable desire seized him to go and take the field against Mashko, to throw a stone under his feet, to cross his further plans, at least, and show him that his keenness of an advocate was not enough in a meeting with real manly energy. All these, as well as the more noble motives, urged Pan Stanislav with irresistible force to undertake something, to do something. Meanwhile the position was such that there remained well-nigh nothing to do. Precisely in this contradiction was hidden the tragedy. To remain in Reichenhall, let Mashko carry out his plans, extend his nets, work for the hand of Panna Plavitski – no! not for anything! But what was he to do? To this last question there was no answer. For the first time in life Pan Stanislav felt as if he were chained; and the less he was accustomed to such a position, the more did he bear it with difficulty. He learned too, for the first time, what sleeplessness means, what excited nerves are. Since Litka, during the days just preceding, felt worse again, there hung over the whole society a leaden atmosphere in which life was becoming unendurable.
After a week another letter came from Marynia. This time there was no mention either of Pan Stanislav or Mashko. Marynia wrote only about the sale of Kremen, without complaint, and without explanation of how the affair had taken place. But from this alone he might infer how deeply the sale had wounded her.
It would have pleased Pan Stanislav more had she complained. He understood clearly, too, that silence in the letter touching him showed how far he had been excluded from the heart of that lady, while silence touching Mashko might show directly the opposite. Finally, if she valued that Kremen so much, she might return to it by giving her hand to its present owner; perhaps she had become reconciled by that thought. Old Plavitski had his prejudices of a noble, it is true, and Pan Stanislav counted on them; but, considering the man as an egotist above all, he admitted that in the present case he would sacrifice his daughter and his prejudices.
In the end of ends, to remain with folded arms at Reichenhall, and wait for news as to whether Pan Mashko would be pleased to offer his hand to Panna Plavitski, became for Pan Stanislav simply impossible. Litka, too, from time to time begged her mother to return to Warsaw. Pan Stanislav determined, therefore, to return, all the more as the time was approaching when he and Bigiel had to begin a new affair.
This decision brought him great solace at once. He would return; he would examine the position with his own eyes, and perhaps undertake something. In every case it would be better than sitting at Reichenhall. Both Pani Emilia and Litka heard the news of his departure without surprise. They knew that he had come only for a few weeks, and they hoped to see him soon in Warsaw. Pani Emilia was to go in the middle of August. For the rest of the month she decided to remain with Vaskovski in Salzburg, and return then to Warsaw. Meanwhile she promised to inform Pan Stanislav of Litka’s health frequently, and besides correspond with Marynia and learn what her thoughts really were touching Mashko.
On the day of his departure, Pani Emilia and Litka, with Vaskovski, took farewell of him at the station. When in the compartment, he was rather sorry to go. Happen what might, he knew not how things would turn out at Warsaw; here he was surrounded by persons who were the sincerest well-wishers that he had in the world. Looking out through the window, he beheld the sad eyes of Litka raised toward him, and the friendly face of Pani Emilia, with the same feeling as if they had been his own family. And again that uncommon beauty of the young widow struck him, – her features, delicate to the verge of excess, her angelic expression of face, and her form perfectly maidenlike, dressed in black.
“Farewell,” said Pani Emilia, “and write to us from Warsaw; we shall see each other in three weeks or sooner.”
“In three weeks,” repeated Pan Stanislav. “I will write certainly. Till we meet again, Litus!”
“Till we meet again! Bow from me to Evka and Yoasia.”
“I will do so.”
And he stretched out his hand through the window again:
“Till our next meeting! Remember your friend.”
“We will not forget; we will not forget. Do you wish me to repeat a novena for your intention?” asked Pani Emilia, smiling.
“Thank you for that too. Do so. Till we meet again, Professor.”
The train moved that moment. Pani Emilia and Litka waved their parasols till the more frequent puffing of the engine hid, with rolls of steam and smoke, the window through which Pan Stanislav was looking.
“Mamma,” asked Litka, “is it really necessary to say a novena for Pan Stas?”
“Yes, Litus. He is so kind to us, we must pray to God to make him happy.”
“But is he unhappy?”
“No – that is – seest thou, every one has trouble, and he has his.”
“I know; I heard in Thumsee,” said the little girl. And after a while she added in a low voice, —
“I will say a novena.”
But Professor Vaskovski, who was so honest that he could not hold his tongue, said after a time to Pani Emilia, when Litka had gone forward, —
“That is a golden heart, and he loves you both as a brother. Now that the specialist has assured us that there is not the least fear, I can tell everything. Pan Stanislav brought him here purposely, for he was alarmed about the little girl in Thumsee.”
“Did he bring him?” asked Pani Emilia. “What a man!” And tears of gratitude came to her eyes. After a while she said, “But I will reward him, for I will give him Marynia.”
Pan Stanislav went away with a heart full of good wishes and gratitude to Pani Emilia, for the man who has failed and for that reason falls into trouble, feels the friendship of people more keenly than others. Sitting in the corner of the compartment, with the image of Pani Emilia fresh in his mind, he said to himself, —
“If I had fallen in love with her! What rest, what certainty of happiness! An object in life would have been found; I should know for whom I am working, I should know whose I am, I should know that my existence has some meaning. She says, it is true, that she will not marry, but me! – she might, who knows? That other is perfection, perhaps, but she may have a very dry heart.”
Here he feels suddenly: “Still I can think calmly about Pani Emilia; while at every recollection of that other a certain unquiet seizes me, which is at once both bitter and agreeable. I am drawn by something toward that other. I have just pressed Pani Emilia’s hand, and that pressure has left no sensation; while even now I remember the warm palm of Marynia, and feel a certain species of quiver at the very thought of it.”
As far as Salzburg, Pan Stanislav thought only of “that other.” This time his thoughts began to take the form, if not of resolves, at least of questions, – how is he to act toward her, and what in this state of affairs is his duty?
“It is not to be denied that I caused the sale of Kremen,” said he to himself. “Kremen had for her not only the money value, which might perhaps have been drawn from it had the sale not been hastened, but also the value with which her heart was bound to the place. I have deprived her of both. Briefly speaking, I have wronged her. I have acted legally; but for a conscience made up of something more than paragraphs, that is not sufficient. I have offended her, I confess, and I must correct my fault in some way. But how? Buy Kremen from Mashko? I am not rich enough. I might perhaps do so by dissolving partnership with Bigiel and withdrawing all my capital; but that is materially impossible. Bigiel might fail, should I do that; hence I will not do it. There is one other way, – to keep up relations as best I can with Plavitski, and propose later on for the hand of his daughter. If rejected, I shall have done at least what behooves me.”
But here that second internal man, of whom Pan Stanislav made mention, raised his voice and began, —
“Do not shield thyself with a question of conscience. If Panna Plavitski were ten years older and ugly, thou mightst have caused in the same way the sale of Kremen, and taken from her everything which thou hast taken, and still it would not have come to thy head to ask for her hand. Tell thyself straightway that Panna Plavitski draws thee, as with nippers, by her face, her eyes, her lips, her arms, her whole person, and do not tempt thyself.”
But, in general, Pan Stanislav held that second internal man firmly, and treated him sometimes with very slight ceremony. Following this method, he said to him, —
“First, thou knowest not, fool, that even in that case I should not try to make good the injury. That at present I wish to make it good by proposing for the lady is natural. Men always ask to marry women who please them, not those for whom they feel repulsion. If thou hast nothing better to say, then be silent.”
The internal man ventured a few more timid remarks, as, for instance, that Plavitski might give command to throw Pan Stanislav downstairs; that in the best case he might not permit him to cross the threshold. But somehow Pan Stanislav was not afraid of this. “People,” thought he, “do not use such means now; and if the Plavitskis do not receive me, so much the worse for them.”
He admitted, however, that if they had even a little tact they would receive him. He knew that he would see Marynia at Pani Emilia’s.
Meditating in this way, he arrived at Salzburg. There was one hour till the arrival of the train from Monachium, by which he was to go to Vienna; hence he decided to walk about the town. That moment he saw in the restaurant the bright-colored pea-jacket of Bukatski, his monocle, and his small head, covered with a still smaller soft cap.
“Bukatski or his spirit!” cried he.
“Calm thyself, Pan Stanislav,” answered Bukatski, phlegmatically, greeting him as if they had parted an hour before. “How art thou?”
“What art thou doing here?”
“Eating a cutlet.”
“To Reichenhall?”
“Yes. But thou art homeward?”
“Yes.”
“Thou hast proposed to Pani Emilia?”
“No.”
“Then I forgive thee. Thou mayst go.”
“Keep thy conceits for a fitter season. Litka is in very great danger.”
Bukatski grew serious, and said, raising his brows, – “Ai, ai! Is that perfectly certain?”
Pan Stanislav told briefly the opinion of the doctor. Bukatski listened for a while; then he said, —
“And is a man not to be a pessimist in this case? Poor child and poor mother! In the event of misfortune, I cannot imagine in any way how she will endure it.”
“She is very religious; but it is terrible to think of this.”
“Let us walk through the town a little,” said Bukatski; “one might stifle here.”
They went out.
“And a man in such straits is not to be a pessimist!” exclaimed Bukatski. “What is Litka? Simply a dove! Every one would spare her; but death will not spare her.”
Pan Stanislav was silent.
“I know not myself now,” continued Bukatski, “whether to go to Reichenhall or not. In Warsaw, when Pani Emilia is there, even I can hold out. Once a month I propose to her, once a month I receive a refusal; and thus I live from the first of one month to the first of the next. The first of the month has just passed, and I am anxious for my pension. Is the mother aware of the little girl’s condition?”
“No. The child is in danger; but perhaps a couple of years remain yet to her.”
“Ah! perhaps no more remain to any of us. Tell me, dost thou think of death often?”
“No. How would that help me? I know that I must lose the case; therefore I do not break my head over it, especially before the time.”
“In this is the point, – we must lose, but still we keep up the trial to the end. This is the whole sense of life, which otherwise would be simply a dreary farce, but now it is a dull tragedy as well. As to me, I have three things at present to choose from: to hang myself, go to Reichenhall, or go to Monachium to see Boecklin’s pictures once more. If I were logical, I should choose the first; since I am not, I’ll choose Reichenhall. Pani Emilia is worth the Boecklins, both as to outline and color.”
“What is to be heard in Warsaw?” asked on a sudden Pan Stanislav, who had had that question on his lips from the first of the conversation. “Hast thou seen Mashko?”
“I have. He has bought Kremen, he is a great landholder, and, since he has wit, he is using all his power not to seem too great. He is polite, sensible, flattering, accessible; he is changed, not to my advantage, it is true, for what do I care? but surely to his own.”
“Isn’t he going to marry Panna Plavitski?”
“I hear that he wants to. Thy partner, Bigiel, said something of this, also that Mashko bought Kremen on conditions more than favorable. Thou wilt find clearer news in the city.”
“Where are the Plavitskis at present?”
“In Warsaw. They are living in the Hotel Rome. The young woman is not at all ugly. I called on them as a cousin, and talked about thee.”
“Thou mightst have chosen a more agreeable subject for them.”
“Plavitski, who is glad of what has happened, told me that thou hadst done them a service, without wishing it certainly, but thou hadst done it. I asked the young lady how it was that she saw thee in Kremen for the first time. She answered that during her visit in Warsaw thou must have been in foreign countries.”
“In fact, I was gone then on business of the firm to Berlin, and I remained there some time.”
“Indeed, I did not observe that they were offended at thee. I heard so much, however, of the young lady’s love of country life, that she must, I admit, be a little angry at thee for having taken Kremen from her. In every case, she does not show any anger.”
“Perhaps she will show it only to me; and the opportunity will not be lacking, for I shall visit them immediately after my return.”
“In that case do me one little service: marry the lady, for of two evils I prefer to be thy cousin rather than Mashko’s.”
“Very well,” replied Pan Stanislav, curtly.
CHAPTER IX
After his return to Warsaw, Pan Stanislav went first of all to Bigiel, who told him minutely the conditions on which Kremen was sold. Those conditions were very profitable for Mashko. He bound himself to pay at the end of a year thirty-five thousand rubles, which were to come from the parcelling of Magyerovka, and besides to pay three thousand yearly till the death of Pan Plavitski. To Pan Stanislav the bargain did not seem at first too unfavorable for Plavitski; but Bigiel was of another opinion.
“I do not judge people too hastily,” said he; “but Plavitski is an incurable old egotist who has sacrificed the future of his child to his own comfort, and, besides, he is frivolous. In this case the annuity is placed as it were on Kremen; but Kremen, as a ruined estate, on which there is need to spend money, has a fictitious value. If Mashko puts it in order, very well; if not, in the most favorable event he will fall behind in payment, and Plavitski may not see a copper for years. What will he do then? He will take Kremen back. But before that time Mashko will contract new debts, even to pay the old ones; and, in case of his bankruptcy, God knows how many creditors will stretch their hands after Kremen. Finally, all depends on the honesty of Mashko, who may be a correct man, but he is carrying on business riskily; if he takes one false step, it may ruin him. Who knows if this very purchase of Kremen be not such a step? – for, wishing to bring the estate into order, he must draw on his credit to the utmost. I have seen men who succeeded a long time until they turned to buying great estates.”
“The ready money for Magyerovka will remain with the Plavitskis always,” said Pan Stanislav, as if wishing to quiet his own fears for their future.
“If old Plavitski does not eat it up, or play it away, or waste it.”
“I must think of something. I caused the sale; I must help.”
“Thou?” asked Bigiel, with astonishment. “I thought that thy relations were broken forever.”
“I shall try to renew them. I will visit the Plavitskis to-morrow.”
“I do not know that they will be glad to see thee.”
“And I myself do not know.”
“Dost wish I will go with thee? For it is a question of breaking the ice. They may not receive thee alone. It is a pity that my wife is not here. I sit by myself whole evenings and play on the violoncello. During the day I have time enough too; I can go with thee.”
Pan Stanislav, however, refused, and next day he dressed himself with great care and went alone. He knew that he was a presentable man; and though usually he did not think much of this, he resolved now to omit nothing which might speak in his favor. On the way he had his head full of thoughts as to what he should say, what he should do in this case or that one, and he tried to foresee how they would receive him.
“I will be as simple and outspoken as possible,” said he to himself; “that is the best method absolutely.”
And, before he noted it, he found himself at the Hotel Rome. His heart began to beat then more quickly.
“It would not be bad,” thought he, “if I should not find them at home. I could leave a card and see later on if Plavitski would acknowledge my visit.”
But straightway he said to himself, “Don’t be a coward,” and went forward. Learning from the servant that Plavitski was at home, he sent in his card, and after a while was invited to enter.
Plavitski was sitting at a table writing letters, drawing at intervals smoke from a pipe with a great amber mouthpiece. At sight of Pan Stanislav he raised his head, and, looking at him through gold-rimmed glasses, said, —
“I beg, I beg!”
“I learned from Bigiel that you and Panna Plavitski were in Warsaw,” said Pan Stanislav, “and I came to pay my respects.”
“That was very pretty on thy part,” answered Plavitski, “and, to tell the truth, I did not expect it. We parted in a bitter manner and through thy fault. But since thou hast felt it thy duty to visit me, I, as the older, open my arms to thee a second time.”
The opening of the arms, however, was confined to reaching across the table a hand, which Pan Stanislav pressed, saying in his own mind, —
“May the Evil One take me, if I come here to thee, and if I feel toward thee any obligation!” After a while he asked, “You and your daughter are coming to live in Warsaw?”
“Yes. I am an old man of the country, accustomed to rise with the sun and to work in the fields; it will be grievous for me in your Warsaw. But it was not right to imprison my child; hence I made one sacrifice more for her.”
Pan Stanislav, who had spent two nights in Kremen, remembered that Plavitski rose about eleven in the forenoon, and that he labored specially about the business of Kremen, not its fields; he passed this, however, in silence, for he had a head occupied with something else at that moment. From the chamber which Plavitski occupied, an open door led to another, which must be Marynia’s. It occurred to Pan Stanislav, who was looking in the direction of that door from the time of his entrance, that perhaps she did not wish to come out; therefore he inquired, —
“But shall I not have the pleasure of seeing Panna Marynia?”
“Marynia has gone to look at lodgings which I found this morning. She will come directly, for they are only a couple of steps distant. Imagine to thyself a plaything, not lodgings. I shall have a cabinet and a sleeping-room; Marynia also a very nice little chamber, – the dining-room is a trifle dark, it is true; but the drawing-room is a candy-box.”
Here Plavitski passed into a narrative concerning his lodgings, with the volubility of a child amused by something, or of an old lover of comfort, who smiles at every improvement. At last he said, —
“I had barely looked around when I found myself at home. Dear Warsaw is my old friend; I know her well.”
But at that moment some one entered the adjoining room.
“That is Marynia, surely,” said Plavitski. “Marynia, art thou there?” called he.
“I am,” answered a youthful voice.
“Come here; we have a guest.”
Marynia appeared in the door. At sight of Pan Stanislav, astonishment shone on her face. He, rising, bowed; and when she approached the table, he stretched out his hand in greeting. She gave him her own with as much coldness as politeness. Then she turned to her father, as if no one else were present in the room, —
“I have seen the lodgings; they are neat and comfortable, but I am not sure that the street is not too noisy.”
“All streets are noisy,” answered Plavitski. “Warsaw is not a village.”
“Pardon me; I will go to remove my hat,” said Marynia. And, returning to her room, she did not appear for some time.
“She will not show herself again,” thought Pan Stanislav.
But evidently she was only arranging her hair before the mirror, after removing her hat; she entered a second time, and asked, —
“Am I interrupting?”
“No,” said Plavitski, “we have no business now, for which, speaking in parenthesis, I am very glad. Pan Polanyetski has come only through politeness.”
Pan Stanislav blushed a little, and, wishing to change the subject, said, —
“I am returning from Reichenhall; I bring you greetings from Pani Emilia and Litka, and that is one reason why I made bold to come.”
For a moment the cool self-possession on Marynia’s face vanished.
“Emilia wrote to me of Litka’s heart attack,” said she. “How is she now?”
“There has not been a second attack.”
“I expect another letter, and it may have come; but I have not received it, for Emilia addressed it very likely to Kremen.”
“They will send it,” said Plavitski; “I gave directions to send all the mail here.”
“You will not go back to the country, then?” asked Pan Stanislav.
“No; we will not,” answered Marynia, whose eyes recovered their expression of cool self-possession.
A moment of silence followed. Pan Stanislav looked at the young lady, and seemed to be struggling with himself. Her face attracted him with new power. He felt now more clearly that in such a person precisely he would find most to please him, that he could love such a one, that she is the type of his chosen woman, and all the more her coldness became unendurable. He would give now, God knows what, to find again in those features the expression which he saw in Kremen, the interest in his words, and the attention, the transparency in those eyes full of smiles and roused curiosity. He would give, God knows what, to have all this return, and he knew not by what method to make it return, by a slow or a quick one; for this cause he hesitated. He chose at last that which agreed best with his nature.
“I knew,” said he, suddenly, “how you loved Kremen, and in spite of that, perhaps, it is I who caused its sale. If that be the case, I tell you openly that I regret the act acutely, and shall never cease to regret it. In my defence I cannot even say that I did it while excited, and without intent. Nay, I had an intent; only it was malicious and irrational. All the greater is my fault, and all the more do I entreat your forgiveness.”
When he had said this, he rose. His cheeks were flushed, and from his eyes shone truth and sincerity; but his words remained without effect. Pan Stanislav went by a false road. He knew women in general too slightly to render account to himself of how far their judgments, especially their judgments touching men, are dependent on their feelings, both transient and permanent. In virtue of these feelings, anything may be taken as good or bad money; anything interpreted for evil or good, recognized as true or false; stupidity may be counted reason, reason stupidity, egotism devotion, devotion egotism, rudeness sincerity, sincerity lack of delicacy. The man who in a given moment rouses dislike, cannot be right with a woman, cannot be sincere, cannot be just, cannot be well-bred. So Marynia, feeling deep aversion and resentment toward Pan Stanislav from the time of Mashko’s coming to Kremen, took sincerity simply ill of him. Her first thought was: “What kind of man is this who recognizes as unreasonable and bad that which a few days ago he did with calculation?” Then Kremen, the sale of the place, Mashko’s visit and the meaning of that visit, which she divined, were for her like a wound festering more and more. And now it seemed to her that Pan Stanislav was opening that wound with all the unsparingness of a man of rough nature and rude nerves.
He rose, and with eyes fixed on her face, waited to see if a friendly and forgiving hand would not be extended to him, with a clear feeling that one such stretching forth of a hand might decide his fate; but her eyes grew dark for a moment, as if from pain and anger, and her face became still colder.
“Let not that annoy you,” said she, with icy politeness. “On the contrary, papa is very much satisfied with the bargain and with the whole arrangement with Pan Mashko.”
She rose then, as if understanding that Pan Stanislav wished to take leave. He stood a moment stricken, disappointed, full of resentment and suppressed anger, full of that feeling of mortification which a man has when he is rejected.
“If that is true, I desire nothing more.”
“It is, it is! I did a good business,” concluded Plavitski.
Pan Stanislav went out, and, descending a number of steps at a time with hat pressed down on his head, he repeated mentally, —
“A foot of mine will not be in your house again.”
He felt, however, that, if he were to go home, anger would stifle him; he walked on, therefore, not thinking whither his feet were bearing him. It seemed to him at that moment that he did not love Marynia, that he even hated her; but still he thought about her, and if he had thought more calmly he would have told himself that the mere sight of her had affected him deeply. He had seen her now a second time, had looked on her, had compared that image of her which he had borne in his memory with the reality; the image became thereby still more definite, more really attractive, and acted the more powerfully on him. And, in spite of the anger, in the depth of his soul an immense liking for her raised its head, and a delight in the woman. There existed, as it were, for him two Marynias, – one the mild, friendly Marynia of Kremen, listening and ready to love; the other that icy young lady of Warsaw, who had rejected him. A woman often becomes dual in this way in the heart of a man, which is then most frequently ready to forgive this unfriendly one for the sake of that loved one. Pan Stanislav did not even admit that Marynia could be such as she had shown herself that day; hence there was in his anger a certain surprise. Knowing his own undeniable worth, and being conceited enough, he carried within him a conviction, which he would not acknowledge to himself, that it was enough for him to extend his hand to have it seized. This time it turned out differently. That mild Marynia appeared suddenly, not only in the rôle of a judge, who utters sentences and condemns, but also in the rôle, as it were, of a queen, with whom it is possible to be in favor or disfavor. Pan Stanislav could not accustom himself to this thought, and he struggled with it; but such is human nature that, when he learned that for that lady he was not so much desired as he had thought, that she not only did not over-value him, but esteemed him lower than herself, in spite of his displeasure, offence, and anger, her value increased in his eyes. His self-love was wounded; but, on the other hand, his will, in reality strong, was ready to rush to the struggle with difficulties, and crush them. All these thoughts were circling chaotically in his head, or, instead of thoughts, they were rather feelings torn and tearing themselves. He repeated a hundred times to himself that he would drop the whole matter, that he must and wished to do so; and at the same time he was so weak and small that somewhere in the most secret corner of his soul he was counting that very moment on the arrival of Pani Emilia, and on the aid which her arrival would bring him. Sunk in this mental struggle, he did not recollect himself till he was halfway on the Zyazd, when he asked, “Why the misery have I gone to Praga?” He halted. The day was fine and was inclining toward evening. Lower down, the Vistula was flowing in the gleam of the sun; and beyond it and beyond the nearer clumps of green, a broad country was visible, covered on the horizon with a rosy and blue haze. Far away, beyond that haze, was Kremen, which Marynia had loved and which she had lost. Pan Stanislav, fixing his eyes on the haze, said to himself, —
