Pan Stanislav waved his hand with all the easy egotism to which a man can bring himself in reference to another, who, at the bottom of things, is of little account to him.
“Bah!” said he; “maybe I will buy Kremen of thee. But the position is difficult. What dost thou think, then, of doing with Gantovski?”
To this Mashko answered: “So far I pay my debts. Thou dost not wish to be my groomsman; wilt thou be my second?”
“That is not refused,” answered Pan Stanislav.
“I thank thee. Gantovksi lives in the Hotel Saxe.”
“I will be with him to-morrow.”
Immediately after Mashko’s departure, Pan Stanislav went to spend the evening at Plavitski’s; on the road he thought, —
“There are no jokes with Mashko, and the affair will not finish in common fashion; but what is that to me? What are they all to me, or I to them? Still, how devilishly alone a man is in the world!”
And all at once he felt that the only person on earth who cared for him, and who thought of him, not as a thing, was Marynia.
And, in fact, when he came, he knew from the very pressure of her hand that this was true. She said to him, in greeting, with her mild and calm voice, —
“I had a presentiment that you would come. See, here is a cup waiting for you.”
CHAPTER XXIII
When Pan Stanislav came to the Plavitskis’ he found there Gantovski. The young men greeted each other at once with evident coldness and aversion. There was not in the whole world that day an unhappier man than Gantovski. Old Plavitski bantered him as usual, and even more than usual, being in excellent humor because of his relative, the old lady from whom he expected a considerable inheritance. Gantovski’s presence was awkward for Marynia; and she strove in vain to hide this annoyance by kindness and a cordial reception. At last Pan Stanislav almost feigned not to see him. It was evident, too, that Gantovski had not confessed anything before old Plavitski, and that he was trembling lest Pan Stanislav might refer to his adventure with Mashko, or tell it outright.
Pan Stanislav understood this at once, as well as the advantage over “the bear” which was given him by his silence; wishing to use it in the interest of Mashko, he was silent for a time, but could not forego the pleasure of punishing Gantovski in another way. He occupied himself the whole evening with Marynia, as he had not done since Litka’s death. This filled Marynia with evident delight. Leaving Gantovski to her father, she walked with Pan Stanislav through the room and talked confidentially; then they sat under the palm, where Pan Stanislav had seen Pani Emilia after the funeral, and talked about her approaching admission to the order of Sisters of Charity. To Gantovski it seemed at times that only people who were betrothed could speak in that way; and he felt then what must be felt by a soul not in purgatory, for in purgatory a soul has hope yet before it, but what is felt by a soul when entering the gate with the inscription “Lasciate ogni speranza” (Leave every hope). Seeing them together in this way, he thought, too, that perhaps Polanyetski had bought the oak with the land so as to obtain for Marynia even a part of Kremen, and therefore with her will and knowledge. And this being the case, the hair rose on his head at the mere thought of how he had blundered in raising a scandal with Mashko. Plavitski, on his part, hearing his half conscious, but altogether inappropriate answers, amused himself still more at the expense of the “rustic,” who on the city pavement had lost what remained of his wit. Plavitski considered himself now as the model of a man of the “capital.”
The moment came, however, when the young men were left alone, for Marynia was occupied with tea in the next room, and Plavitski had gone for cigars to his study; Pan Stanislav turned then to Gantovski, —
“Let us go together after tea,” said he; “I wish to speak with you touching your collision with Pan Mashko.”
“Of course,” answered Gantovski, gloomily, understanding that Polanyetski was Mashko’s second.
Meanwhile they had to remain for tea, and sit long enough after that, for Plavitski did not like to go to bed early, and summoned Gantovski to a game of chess. During the play, Marynia and Pan Stanislav sat apart and conversed with animation, to the heartfelt torment of “the bear.”
“The arrival of Gantovski must be pleasing to you,” said Pan Stanislav, all at once, “for it brings Kremen to your mind.”
Astonishment flashed over Marynia’s face that he was the first to mention Kremen. She had supposed that, in virtue of a tacit agreement, he would cover that question with silence.
“I think no more now of Kremen,” answered she, after a pause.
This statement was not true, for in her heart’s depth she was sorry for the place in which she had been reared, – the place of her labor for years, and of her shattered hopes; but she thought herself forced to speak thus by duty, and by the feeling for Pan Stanislav, which was increasing continually.
“Kremen,” added she, with a voice of some emotion, “was the cause of our earliest quarrel; and I wish now for concord, concord forever.”
While saying this, she looked into Pan Stanislav’s eyes with a coquetry full of sweetness, which a bad woman is able to put on at any time, but an honest woman only when she is beginning to love.
“She is wonderfully kind,” thought he. Straightway he added aloud, “You might have a fabulous weapon against me, for you might lead me to perdition with kindness.”
“I do not wish to lead you to that,” replied she.
And in sign that she did not, she began to shake her dark, shapely head laughingly; and Pan Stanislav looked at her smiling face, and her mouth a trifle too large, and said mentally, —
“Whether I love her, or love her not, no one attracts me as she does.”
In fact, she had never occupied him and never pleased him more, even when he felt no shade of doubt that he loved her, and when he was struggling with that feeling. But at last he took farewell of her, for it had grown late; and after a while he and Gantovski found themselves on the street.
Pan Stanislav who never had been able to guard himself from impulsiveness, stopped the unfortunate “bear,” and asked almost angrily, —
“Did you know that it was I who bought the oak at Kremen?”
“I did,” answered Gantovski; “for your agent, that man who says that he is descended from Tartars – I forget what his name is – was at my house in Yalbrykov, and told me that it was you.”
“Why, then, did you make the scandal with Pan Mashko, not with me?”
“Do not push me to the wall so,” answered Gantovski, “for I do not like it. I raised the scandal with him, not with you, because the Plavitskis have nothing to do with you; but that man is obliged to pay them yearly from Kremen the amount he has engaged to pay, and if he ruins Kremen, he will have nothing to pay from. If you wished to know why I attacked him, you know now.”
Pan Stanislav had to confess in his soul that there was a certain justice in Gantovski’s answer; hence he began the conversation at once from another side, —
“Pan Mashko has begged me to be his second, that’s why I interfere in this question. I shall call on you to-morrow as a second; but as a private man, and a relative, though a distant one, of Pan Plavitski, I can tell you to-day only this, – that you have rendered the poorest service to Pan Plavitski, and if he and his daughter are left without a morsel of bread, they will have you to thank for it. This is the truth!”
Gantovski’s eyes became perfectly round.
“Without a morsel of bread? They will thank me for it?”
“That is the position,” repeated Pan Stanislav. “But listen carefully. Without reference to the result of the scandal, the circumstances are such that it may have the most fatal results. I say this to you, on my word: you have, perhaps, ruined Pan Plavitski, and taken from him and his daughter the way, or rather the means, of living.”
If Gantovski really did not like to be pressed to the wall, it was time for him then to show his dislike; but Gantovski had lost his head utterly, and stood in amazement, with open mouth, unable to find an answer; and only after a time did he begin, —
“What? How? In what way? Be sure that it will not come to that, even if I have to give them Yalbrykov.”
“Pan Gantovski,” interrupted Pan Stanislav, “it is a pity to lose words. I have known your neighborhood from the time I was a little boy. What is Yalbrykov, and what have you in Yalbrykov?”
It was true, Yalbrykov was a poor little village, with nine vlokas of land; and, besides, Gantovski had, as is usual, inherited debts higher than his ears; so his hands dropped at his sides. It occurred to him, however, that perhaps matters did not stand as Pan Stanislav represented them; and he grasped at this thought as at a plank of salvation.
“I do not understand what you say,” said he. “God is my witness that I would choose my own ruin rather than injure the Plavitskis; and know this, that I would be glad to twist the neck of Pan Mashko; but, if it is necessary, – if it is a question of the Plavitskis, – then let the devils take me first!
“Immediately after the scandal, I went to Pan Yamish, who is here at the session, and told him all. He said that I had committed a folly, and scolded me, it is true. If it were a question of my skin, it would be nothing, – I would not move a finger; but, since it touches something else, I will do what Pan Yamish tells me, even should a thunderbolt split me next moment. Pan Yamish lives at the Hotel Saxe, and so do I.”
They parted on this; and Gantovski went to his hotel, cursing Mashko, himself, and Polanyetski. He felt that it must be as Polanyetski had said, – that some incurable misfortune had happened, – and that he had wrought grievous injustice against that same Panna Marynia for whom he would have given his last drop of blood; he felt that if there had been for him any hope, he had destroyed it completely. Plavitski would close his door on him. Panna Marynia would marry Polanyetski, unless he didn’t want her. But who would not want her? And, at the same time, Pan Gantovski saw clearly that among those who might ask her hand, he was the last man she would marry. “What have I? Nothing,” said he to himself; “that measly Yalbrykov, nothing more, – neither good name nor money. Every man knows something; I alone know nothing. Every one means something; I alone mean nothing. That Polanyetski has learning and money; but that I love her better, – the devils to me for that, and as much to her, if I am such an idiot that through loving I harm instead of helping her.”
Pan Stanislav, on his way home, thought of Gantovski in the same way, and in general had not for him even one spark of sympathy. At home he found Mashko, who had been waiting an hour, and who said, as greeting, —
“Kresovski will be the other second.”
Pan Stanislav made somewhat of a wry face, and answered, —
“I have seen Gantovski.”
“And what?”
“He is a fool.”
“He is that, first of all. Hast thou spoken to him in my name?”
“Not in thy name. As a relative of Pan Plavitski, I told him that he had given Pan Plavitski the worst service in the world.”
“You gave no explanations?”
“None. Hear me, Mashko: it is a question for thee of complete satisfaction; it is no point for me that ye should shoot each other. In virtue of what I have told Gantovski, he is ready to agree to all thy conditions. Happily, he has committed himself to Yamish. Yamish is a mild, prudent man, who understands also that Gantovski has acted like an idiot, and will be glad to give him a lesson.”
“Very well,” said Mashko. “Give me a pen and piece of paper.”
“Thou hast them at the desk.”
Mashko sat down and wrote. When he had finished, he gave the written sheet to Pan Stanislav, who read as follows: —
“I testify this day that I attacked Pan Mashko while I was drunk, in a state of unconsciousness, and without giving myself account of what I was saying. To-day, having become sober, in presence of my seconds, the seconds of Pan Mashko, and the persons who were present at the scene, I acknowledge my act as rude and senseless, and turn with the greatest sorrow and contrition to the good sense and kindness of Pan Mashko, begging him for forgiveness, and acknowledging publicly that his conduct was and is in everything above the judgment of men like me.”
“Gantovski is to declaim this, and then subscribe it,” said Mashko.
“This is devilishly unmerciful; no one will agree to it,” said Pan Stanislav.
“Dost thou acknowledge that this fool has permitted to himself something unheard of with reference to me?”
“I do.”
“And remember what result this adventure may have for me?”
“It is impossible to know that.”
“Well, I know; but I will tell thee only this much, – those ladies will regret from their souls that they are bound to me, and will use every pretext which will excuse them before society. That is certain; I am ruined almost beyond rescue.”
“The devil!”
“Thou canst understand now that what is troubling me must be ground out on some one, and that Gantovski must pay me for the injustice in one form or another.”
“Neither have I any tenderness for him. Let it be so,” said Pan Stanislav, shrugging his shoulders.
“Kresovski will come for thee to-morrow morning at nine.”
“Very well.”
“Then, till we meet again. By the way, should you see Plavitski to-morrow, tell him that his relative, Panna Ploshovski, from whom he expected an inheritance, has died in Rome. Her will was here with her manager, Podvoyni, and is to be opened to-morrow.”
“Plavitski knows of that already, for she died five days ago.”
Pan Stanislav was left alone. For a certain time he thought of his money without being able to foresee a method by which he might receive it from the bankrupt Mashko, and the thought disturbed him. He remembered, however, that the debt could not be removed from the mortgage on Kremen until it was paid in full; that in this last case he would continue as he had been previously, – a creditor of Kremen. Kremen, it is true, was not a much better debtor than Mashko, hence this was no great consolation; but for the time he was forced to be satisfied with it. Later on, something else also came to his head. He remembered Litka, Pani Emilia, Marynia, and he was struck by this, – how the world of women, a world of feelings purely, a world whose great interest lies in living in the happiness of those near us, differs from the world of men, a world full of rivalry, struggles, duels, encounters, angers, torments, and efforts for acquiring property. He recognized at that moment what he had not felt before, – that if there be solace, repose, and happiness on earth, they are to be sought from a loving woman. This feeling was directly opposed to his philosophy of the last few days, hence it disturbed him. But, in comparing further those two worlds, he could not withhold the acknowledgment that that feminine and loving world has its foundation and reason of existence.
If Pan Stanislav had been more intimate with the Holy Scriptures, beyond doubt the words, “Mary has chosen the better part,” would have occurred to him.
CHAPTER XXIV
Kresovski was almost an hour late on the following morning. He was, according to a noted description among us, one of the administrators of fresh air in the city, – that is, one of the men who do nothing. He had a name sufficiently famous, and had squandered rather a large fortune. On these two foundations he lived, he went everywhere, and was recognized universally as a man of good breeding. How the above titles can provide a man everything is the secret of great cities; it is enough that not only Kresovski’s position was recognized and certain, but he was considered a person to whom it was possible to apply with safety in delicate questions. In courts of honor he was employed as an arbiter; in duels, as a second. High financial circles were glad to invite him to dinners, weddings, christenings, and solemnities of that sort, since he had a patrician baldness, and a countenance extremely Polish; hence he ornamented a table perfectly.
He was a man in the essence of things greatly disenchanted with people, a little consumptive, and very satirical. He possessed, however, a certain share of humor, which permitted him to see the laughable side of things, especially of very small things; in this he resembled Bukatski somewhat, and made sport of his own fault-finding. He permitted others to make sport of it also, but within measure. When the measure was passed, he straightened himself suddenly, and squeezed people to excess; in view of this he was looked on as dangerous. It was said of him that in a number of cases he had found courage where many would have lacked it, and that, in general, he could “carry his nose high.” He did not respect any one nor anything, except his own really very noble physiognomy; time, especially, he did not respect, for he was late always and everywhere. Coming in to Pan Stanislav’s on this occasion, he began at once, after the greeting, to explain his tardiness, —
“Have you not noticed,” asked he, “that if a man is in a real hurry, and very anxious to hasten, the things he needs most vanish purposely? The servant seeks his hat, – it is gone; looks for his overshoes, – they are not there; hunts for his pocket-book, – it is not to be had. I will wager that this is so always.”
“It happens thus,” said Pan Stanislav.
“I have, in fact, invented a cure. When something has gone from me as if it had fallen into water, I sit down, smile, and say aloud: ‘I love to lose a thing in this way, I do passionately;’ my man looks for it, becomes lively, stirs about, passes the time, – that is very wholesome and agreeable. And what will you say? Right away the lost article is found.”
“A patent might be taken for such an invention,” answered Pan Stanislav; “but let us speak of Mashko’s affair.”
“We must go to Yamish. Mashko has sent me a paper which he has written for Gantovski. He is unwilling to change a word; but it is an impossible statement, too harsh, – it cannot be accepted. I understand that a duel is waiting for us, nothing else; I see no other outcome.”
“Gantovski has intrusted himself to Pan Yamish in everything, and he will do all that Yamish commands. But Yamish, to begin with, is also indignant at Gantovski; secondly, he is a sick man, mild, calm, so that who knows that he may not accept such conditions.”
“Pan Yamish is an old dotard,” said Kresovski; “but let us go, for it is late.”
They went out. After a while the sleigh halted before the hotel. Pan Yamish was waiting for them, but he received them in his dressing-gown, for he was really in poor health. Kresovski, looking at his intelligent, but careworn and swollen face, thought, —
“He is really ready to agree to everything.”
“Sit down, gentlemen,” said Pan Yamish; “I came only three days ago, and though I do not feel well, I am glad, for perhaps the affair may be settled. Believe me that I was the first to rub the ears of my water-burner.”
Here he shrugged his shoulders, and, turning to Pan Stanislav, inquired, —
“What are the Plavitskis doing? I have not visited them yet, though I long to see my golden Marynia.”
“Panna Marynia is well,” answered Pan Stanislav.
“But the old man?”
“A few days ago a distant relative of his died, – a very wealthy woman; he is counting, therefore, on an inheritance. He told me so yesterday; but I hear that she has left all her property for benevolent purposes. The will is to be opened to-day or to-morrow.”
“May God have inspired her to leave something to Marynia! But let us come to our affair. I need not tell you, gentlemen, that it is our duty to finish it amicably, if we can.”
Kresovski bowed. Introductions like this, which he had heard in his life God knows how often, annoyed him.
“We are profoundly convinced of this duty.”
“So I had hoped,” answered Yamish, benevolently. “I confess myself that Pan Gantovski had not the least right to act as he did. I recognize even as just that he should be punished for it; hence I shall persuade him to all, even very considerable, concessions, fitted to assure proper satisfaction to Pan Mashko.”
Kresovski took from his pocket the folded paper, and gave it, with a smile, to Pan Yamish, saying, —
“Pan Mashko demands nothing more than that Pan Gantovski should read this little document, to begin with, in presence of his own and Pan Mashko’s seconds, as well as in presence of Pan Mashko’s subordinates, who were present at the scene, and then write under it his own respected name.”
Pan Yamish, finding his spectacles among his papers, put them on his nose, and began to read. But as he read, his face grew red, then pale; after that he began to pant. Pan Stanislav and Kresovski could scarcely believe their eyes that that was the same Pan Yamish who a moment before was ready for every concession.
“Gentlemen,” said he, with a broken voice, “Pan Gantovski has acted like a water-burner, like a thoughtless man; but Pan Gantovski is a noble, and this is what I answer in his name to Pan Mashko.”
When he said this, he tore the paper in four pieces, and threw them on the floor.
The thing had not been foreseen. Kresovski began to meditate whether Yamish had not offended his dignity of a second by this act, and in one moment his face began to grow icy, and contract like that of an angry dog; but Pan Stanislav, who loved Pan Yamish, was pleased at his indignation.
“Pan Mashko is injured in such an unusual degree that he cannot ask for less; but Pan Kresovski and I foresaw your answer, and it only increases the respect which we have for you.”
Pan Yamish sat down, and, being somewhat asthmatic, breathed rather heavily for a time; then he grew quiet, and said, —
“I might offer you an apology on the part of Pan Gantovski, but in other expressions altogether; I see, however, that we should be losing time merely. Let us talk at once of satisfaction, weapon in hand. Pan Vilkovski, Pan Gantovski’s other second, will be here soon; and if you can wait, we will fix the conditions immediately.”
“That is called going straight to the object,” said Kresovski, who quite agreed with Pan Yamish.
“But from necessity, – and sad necessity,” replied Yamish.
“I must be in my office at eleven,” said Pan Stanislav, looking at his watch; “but, if you permit, I will run in here about one o’clock, to look over the conditions and sign them.”
“That will do. We cannot draw up conditions that will rouse people’s laughter, that I understand and inform you; but I count on this, – that you, gentlemen, will not make them too stringent.”
“I have no thought, I assure you, of quarrelling to risk another man’s life.” So saying, Pan Stanislav started for his office, where, in fact, a number of affairs of considerable importance were awaiting him, and which, in Bigiel’s absence, he had to settle alone. In the afternoon he signed the conditions of the duel, which were serious, but not too stringent. He went then to dinner, for he hoped to find Mashko in the restaurant. Mashko had gone to Pani Kraslavski’s; and the first person whom Pan Stanislav saw was Plavitski, dressed, as usual, with care, shaven, buttoned, fresh-looking, but gloomy as night.
“What is my respected uncle doing here?” asked Pan Stanislav.
“When I have trouble, I do not dine at home usually, and this to avoid afflicting Marynia,” answered Plavitski. “I go somewhere; and as thou seest, the wing of a chicken, a spoonful of preserve, is all that I need. Take a seat with me, if thou hast no pleasanter company.”
“What has happened?”
“Old traditions are perishing; that has happened.”
“Bah! this is not a misfortune personal to uncle.”
Plavitski glanced at him gloomily and solemnly. “To-day,” said he, “a will has been opened.”
“Well, and what?”
“And what? People are saying now throughout Warsaw: ‘She remembered her most distant relatives!’ Nicely did she remember them! Marynia has an inheritance, has she? Knowest thou how much? Four hundred rubles a year for life. And the woman was a millionnaire! An inheritance like that may be left to a servant, not to a relative.”
“But to uncle?”
“Nothing to me. She left fifteen thousand rubles to her manager, but mentioned no syllable about me.”
“What is to be done?”
“Old traditions are perishing. How many people gained estates formerly through wills, and why was it? Because love and solidarity existed in families.”
“Even to-day I know people on whose heads thousands have fallen from wills.”
“True, there are such, – there are many of them; but I am not of the number.”
Plavitski rested his head on his hand, and from his mouth issued something in the style of a monologue.
“Yes, always somewhere somebody leaves something to somebody.” Here he sighed, and after a while added, “But to me no one leaves anything, anywhere, at any time.”
Suddenly an idea equally cruel and empty occurred to Pan Stanislav on a sudden to cheer up Plavitski; therefore he said, —
“Ai! she died in Rome; but the will here was written long ago, and before that one there was another altogether different, as people tell me. Who knows that in Rome a little codicil may not be found, and that my dear uncle will not wake up a millionnaire some day?”
“That day will not come,” answered Plavitski. Still the words had moved him; he began to gaze at Polanyetski, to squirm as if the chair on which he was sitting were a bed of torture, and said, at last, “And you think that possible?”
“I see in it nothing impossible,” answered Pan Stanislav, with real roguish seriousness.
“If the wish of Providence.”
“And that may be.”
Plavitski looked around the hall; they were alone. He pushed back his chair on a sudden, and, pointing to his shirt-bosom, said, —
“Come here, my boy!”
Pan Stanislav inclined his head, which Plavitski kissed twice, saying at the same time, with emotion, —
“Thou host consoled me; thou hast strengthened me. Let it be as God wills, but thou hast strengthened me. I confess to thee now that I wrote to Panna Ploshovski only to remind her that we were living. I asked her when the rent term of one of her estates would end; I had not, as thou knowest, the intention to take that place, but the excuse was a good one. May God reward thee for strengthening me! The present will may have been made before my letter. She went to Rome later; on the way she must have thought of my letter, and therefore of us; and, to my thinking, that is possible. God reward thee!”
After a while his face cleared up completely; all at once he laid his hand on Pan Stanislav’s knee, and, clicking with his tongue, cried, —
“Knowest what, my boy? Perhaps in a happy hour thou hast spoken; and might we not drink a small bottle of Mouton-Rothschild on account of this codicil?”
“God knows that I cannot,” said Pan Stanislav, who had begun to be a little ashamed of what he had said to the old man. “I cannot, and I will not.”
“Thou must.”
“‘Pon my word, I cannot. I have my hands full of work, and I will not befog my head for anything in the world.”
“A stubborn goat, – a regular goat! Then I will drink half a bottle to the happy hour.”
So he ordered it, and asked, —
“What hast thou to do?”
“Various things. Immediately after dinner I must be with Professor Vaskovski.”
“What kind of a figure is that Vaskovski?”
“In fact,” said Pan Stanislav, “an inheritance has fallen to him from his brother, who was a miner, – an inheritance, and a considerable one. But he gives all to the poor.”
“He gives to the poor, but goes to a good restaurant. I like such philanthropists. If I had anything to give the poor, I would deny myself everything.”
“He was ailing a long time, and the doctor ordered him to eat plentifully. But even in that case he eats only what is cheap. He lives in a poor chamber, and rears birds. Next door he has two large rooms; and knowest, uncle, who passes the night in them? Children whom he picks up on the street.”
“It seemed to me right away that he had something here,” said Plavitski, tapping his forehead with his finger.
Pan Stanislav did not find Vaskovski at home; hence after an interview with Mashko he dropped in to see Marynia about five in the afternoon. His conscience was gnawing him for the nonsense he had spoken to Plavitski. “The old man,” said he to himself, “will drink costly wines on account of that codicil; while to my thinking they are living beyond their means already. The joke should not last too long.”
He found Marynia with her hat on. She was going to the Bigiels’, but received him, and since he had not come for a long time, he remained.
“I congratulate you on the inheritance,” said he.
“I am glad myself,” replied she; “it is something sure, and in our position that is important. For that matter, I should like to be as rich as possible.”
“Why so?”
“You remember what you said once, that you would like to have enough to establish a manufactory, and not carry on a mercantile house. I remember that; and since every one has personal wishes, I should like to have much, much money.”
Then, thinking that she might have said too much, and said it too definitely, she began to straighten the fold of her dress, so as to incline her head.
“I came, for another thing, to beg your pardon,” said Pan Stanislav. “To-day at dinner I told a pack of nonsense to Pan Plavitski, saying that Panna Ploshovski had changed her will, perhaps, and left him a whole estate. Beyond my expectation he took it seriously. I should not wish to have him deceive himself; and if you will permit me, I will go at once to him and explain the matter somehow.”
“I have explained it to him already,” said Marynia, smiling; “he scolded me, and that greatly. You see how you have involved matters. You have cause indeed to beg pardon.”
“Therefore I beg.”
And, seizing her hand, he began to cover it with kisses; and she left it with him completely, repeating as if in sarcasm, but with emotion, —
“Ah, the wicked Pan Stas, the wicked Pan Stas!”
That day Pan Stanislav felt on his lips till he fell asleep the warmth of Marynia’s hand; and he thought neither of Mashko nor Gantovski, but repeated to himself with great persistence, —