Chapter VIII: Part 8

"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."

VII

Gronski actually did postpone his "five o'clock." Pani Krzycki, however, visited her son, sometimes twice in a day, claiming justly that less danger threatened an elderly woman than any one else. Ladislaus passed long hours with her, speaking about everything, but mostly about Miss Anney. After Gronski's admonition, he did not, indeed, confess to his mother his feelings for the young Englishwoman and did not mention a word about his intentions, but the fact, alone, that her name was continually on his lips, that he ascribed his preservation to her alone, and incessantly talked about the debt of gratitude which he and his family owed to her, gave his mother much to think about. The suspicion, which had flitted through her mind on the eve of their departure from Jastrzeb, returned and became more and more strongly fortified. She did not, indeed, take it for granted that Ladislaus had already taken an unbreakable resolution but came to the conclusion that he was "smitten" and finally that the light-haired maiden had made a greater impression upon him than had his cousin Otocka. This filled her with sorrow. During the journey and their few days' sojourn in Warsaw she took a fancy to Miss Anney for her demeanor, simplicity, and complaisance; but "Zosia Otocka" was the little eye in her head. From the moment she met her in Krynica, she never ceased dreaming of her for her son. She judged that, in respect to nobility and delicacy of sentiment, no one could compare with her. She regarded her as a chosen soul and the incarnation of womanly angelicalness. She had awaited her arrival with palpitation of the heart, not supposing for a moment that Ladislaus would not be captivated by her figure, her sweet countenance, that maidenly charm, which, notwithstanding her widowhood, she preserved in full bloom. And until the end Pani Krzycki indulged in the hope that all would end according to her desires, not taking into account the fleeting impression in Jastrzeb; only during the journey to Warsaw and in the course of the last few days did she note that it might happen otherwise, and that Ladislaus' eyes were enraptured by another flower. She preferred, however, not to question him for she thought that it might yet pass away.

He, in the meantime, chafed as if imprisoned, and would undoubtedly have not observed those few days which the doctor stipulated, were it not for the fact that he had made a promise to his mother in Miss Anney's presence, and feared to create an opinion in her eyes that he was a man who did not keep his word. After the advice which Pani Otocka, through the instrumentality of Gronski, gave him that he should first speak with Miss Anney, it became more unendurable for him to sit in the house. From morning till night he racked his brain as to what that could be and could arrive at no satisfactory solution. The day following the conversation with Gronski, he decided to ask Pani Otocka about it by letter and sat down with great ardor to write. But after the first page he was encompassed by doubt. It seemed to him that he could not express that which he wished. He understood that, under the address of Pani Otocka, he was really writing to Miss Anney. So he yearned to make it a masterpiece, and in the meantime came to the conclusion that it was something so bungling and maladroit that it was impossible to forward it. Finally he lost all faith in his stylistic accomplishments, and this spoilt his humor so far that he again began to ask himself in his soul whether such "an ass," who is unable to indite three words, has the right to aspire to such an extraordinary and in every respect perfect being as "She." Gronski, however, comforted him with the explanation that the letter was not a success because from the beginning the project was baffling and under such circumstances no one could succeed. After which he also called his attention to another circumstance, namely, that from Pani Otocka's words and her advice that an interview with Miss Anney should precede any talk with his mother could be drawn the inference that there everything was prepared for an explosion, and all means preventative of a heart-break had been provided. Mirth immediately returned to Ladislaus and he began to laugh like a child and afterwards again sent to the three ladies bouquets of the most magnificent roses which Warsaw could provide.

The day concluded yet more propitiously, for proofs of appreciation arrived. They were brought to Gronski's house by Panna Pauly in the form of a small and perfumed note, on which was written by the hand of the light-haired divinity the following words: "We thank you for the beautiful roses and hope for an early meeting." Further came the signatures of Agnes Anney, Zosia Otocka, and Marynia Zbyltowska. Krzycki pronounced the letter a masterpiece of simplicity and eloquence. He certainly would have kissed each letter of it separately, were it not for the fact that before him stood Panna Pauly, with clouded face, and eyes firmly fixed upon him--uneasy and already full of suspicious jealousy, though obviously not knowing against which one of the three ladies it was to be directed. Krzycki, not concealing the joy which the letter gave him, turned to her and said:

"What is new, little Miss? Are the ladies well?"

"Yes. My mistress instructed me to inquire about your health."

"Kindly thank her. It is excellent, and if I am not shot again, I will not die from the first shooting."

And she, not taking her bottomless eyes off him, replied:

"God be praised."

"But that you, little Miss, should not fear to go out in such turbulent times!"

"The lackey was afraid, but I do not fear anything and wanted to see for myself how you were."

"There is a daring body for me! I am grateful to you, little Miss. Since this stupid strike of hackmen ended to-day, it is better for you to return by hack. Please accept this--for--"

While saying this, he began to search for his purse, and taking a five-rouble gold piece, he offered it to her. At the same time he felt that he was doing something improper, and even terrible. It was so disagreeable to him that he became confused and reddened, but it seemed to him that any other method of showing his gratitude would be food for the feeling which he perceived in her and which he wished to dispel, because of some strange kind of fear intensified even by the fact that the girl was Miss Anney's maid.

Therefore he began to repeat with a forced and slightly silly smile:

"Please, Panna Pauly, take it, please--"

But she withdrew her hand and her face darkened in a moment.

"I thank you," she said. "I did not come for that."

And she turned towards the door. To the dissatisfaction with himself which Krzycki felt was joined pity for her. Therefore he followed her a few steps.

"Let not the little lady be offended," he said; "here, of course, was no other thought than of her safety. It was only about this that I was concerned. Shall the servant summon a carriage?--"

But she did not answer and left the house. Krzycki, walking to the window, gazed for some time at her graceful form, disappearing in the depths of the street; and suddenly again appeared before his eyes the vision of the white statue in azure drops of water. There was, however, something exasperating in her; and unwillingly there occurred to the frail young gentleman the thought that if she were not Miss Anney's maid, and if he had known her formerly, that as two and two are four he would have succumbed to temptation.

But at present another, greater power had snatched away his thoughts and heart. After a while he returned to the letter and began to read it anew: "We thank you for the beautiful roses and hope for an early meeting." And so they want to see him over there. The day after to-morrow he will not be sitting here, bound by the chains of his own words, but will go there and gaze in those wonderful eyes, looking with a heavenly stream, and will so press his lips to her beloved hands that in one kiss he will tell everything which he has in his heart. Words will be later only an echo. And imagination bore him like an unmanageable horse. Perhaps that idolized maid may at once fall into his arms; perhaps she may close those wonderful eyes and offer her lips to him. At this thought a thrill passed through Krzycki from his feet to his head and it seemed to him that all the love, all the impulses, and all the desires which ever existed and exist in the world at present were hoarded in him alone.

VIII

Gronski spent the entire next day in the city; at night he was at Pani Otocka's, so that he did not return home until near midnight. Krzycki was not yet asleep and as his mother, on account of the disturbances on the streets could not visit him that day, he awaited with impatience Gronski's return, and immediately began to question him about the news in the city and of the ladies.

"The news in the city is bad," answered Gronski; "about noon I heard the firing of musketry in the factory district. Before calling upon Pani Otocka, I was at a meeting in the Philharmonic at which representatives of some of the warring factions met, and do you know what kind of an impression I took away with me? Why, that, unfortunately, Swidwicki in certain respects was right and that we have come to the pass where only a civil war can clear the atmosphere. In this would be the greater tragedy for it would, at the same time, be the final extinction. But of this later. I have a head so tired and nerves so shattered that to-day I cannot think of such things."

Here he rang for the servant, and notwithstanding the late hour directed him to prepare tea. Then he continued:

"But from Pani Otocka I bring news. You would not believe your ears when I tell you what happened. Why this afternoon, before my arrival, Laskowicz called on those ladies."

Krzycki dropped from his hand the cigar which he was smoking.

"Laskowicz?" he asked.

"Yes."

"But the police are looking for him."

"They are looking for him in the country and not in Warsaw. The police, like all the rest, have lost their heads. After all, it is easier to hide in a large city. But, really, if he himself flew into their hands, they might clutch him."

"But what did he want from Pani Otocka?"

"According to my conjectures, he wanted to see Marynia, but came ostensibly for a contribution for revolutionary purposes. After all, they are now continually soliciting contributions."

"And did the ladies give?"

"No. They told him that they would not give anything for the revolution, and for the hungry and those deprived of employment they had already sent as much as they could to a newspaper office. In fact, this was the truth. Pani Otocka donated a considerable amount, and Miss Anney also. Laskowicz attempted to explain to them that a refusal would expose the refractory to dangers and for that reason he came to them personally to shield them from it. He was very much displeased and incensed, particularly as he saw only Pani Zosia and Miss Anney, for Marynia did not appear. He announced however that he would come again."

"Let him try!" cried Ladislaus, clenching his fists.

But afterwards he asked with surprise:

"How did he get in there, and why did they receive him?"

"The male servants throughout the whole city are terror-stricken and the words 'From the Party' everywhere open the doors like the best pick-lock. But Laskowicz did not have to use even these means, as it happened that Pani Otocka's footman was in the cellar and he was admitted by Miss Anney's maid, who knew him from Jastrzeb and thought that he came as a good acquaintance."

"In any case she acquitted herself foolishly."

"My dear sir, what could she know about him? Of course, no one told her what he was and she saw him among us; she saw how he rode away to the city with me and that he was the tutor of the younger members of your family. That he participated in the attack upon you, also, could not have occurred to her mind, for from our side that is only a supposition which we did not confide to the ladies, in order not to disquiet them, and much less to her."

"Perhaps she herself is a socialist."

"I doubt it, for after the attempt, hearing that you were wounded, it is said she wailed so bitterly that she could be heard all over Jastrzeb; she invoked all the punishments of hades upon your would-be assassins. Miss Anney was much affected by that. I remember also that when it was rumored that the Rzeslewo people did it, she vowed to set fire to Rzeslewo. Ah, you always have luck--"

"I do not care for such luck. But as to Laskowicz she, of course, saw during the search at Jastrzeb that they were seeking him."

"Well, what of it? Were you not persecuted for establishing a school? In this country all sympathy is always on the side of the fugitive. Imagine for yourself that when Miss Anney forbade her to admit Laskowicz any more, she became indignant. Evidently it seemed to her that Miss Anney did that from fear of the police."

"Miss Anney gave indisputable proofs that she does not fear anything."

"So I also do not suspect her of fear, nor Pani Otocka. But, instead, I confess to you what I fear. That madman, if he does not personally appear there, will hover about them, and what is more will write letters; all letters now travel undoubtedly through the black cabinets. If I knew where I could find him, I would warn him above all things not to dare to write any more."

"I will warn him of that and something else, if I can only meet him."

"Since he visited the ladies, he may come to see me. We had, while riding together from Jastrzeb, a discussion which he has not forgiven me."

"If he comes here, do you give me carte blanche?"

"I would not think of it. Previously I had propounded to you the question whether if, as a result of a personal encounter with you, he was arrested you could take upon your soul his destruction, and you answered 'No.' Now I will ask you differently: If Laskowicz, tracked and pursued as a wild animal, hid in your house, would you not endeavor to hide him or assist him in escaping?"

To this Krzycki replied in anger, but without hesitation:

"I would help him--the dog's blood."

"Ah, you see!" observed Gronski. "You curse, but admit. If they come to me for a contribution--it is all the same whether with or without Laskowicz--I will tell them that I will give for people destitute of bread but will not give for bombs, dynamite, and strike propaganda. I will tell them more: that in collecting contributions for a revolution from people who do not want to give and who give only from fear, they degrade their own citizens."

"Perhaps that is of import to them. The more the higher strata become cowardly, the easier it will be for them."

"That may be, but in such case they are the full brethren of all those who purposely and of old have debased the community."

And Krzycki pondered and said:

"With us these things are often done--from above and from below."

Gronski glanced at him with a certain surprise as if he did not expect from his lips such a remark.

"You are right," he declared; "from above, a continual lowering of great ideals, from below, because at present they are being directly trampled upon."

"Bah! There remain yet the solid multitude of country peasantry."

"Again you are right," replied Gronski. "Formerly Dabrowski's March[7] was the watchword for a hundred thousand, to-day it is the watchword for ten millions. Blessed be folk-lore!"

They remained silent. Gronski for a time walked about the room, taking, according to his custom, the eyeglasses off his nose and replacing them. After which, he said:

"Do you know what surprises me? This: that in such times and under such conditions, people can think of their private happiness and their private affairs. But nevertheless such is the law of life, which no power can suppress."

"Have you me in mind?"

"In theory, I am verifying a fact which in practice even you confirm. For lo, at this moment it is as if an earthquake took place; the buildings tumble, people perish, subterranean fires burst forth and you and Miss Anney love each other and think of founding a new nest."

"How did you say it?" Krzycki asked with radiant countenance, "'you love each other.'"

"I said 'you love each other,' for such is the case. You, after all, are more in love than she."

"Certainly," answered Ladislaus, "there is nothing strange in that; but what inference do you draw?"

"This, which you have not heretofore either directly or indirectly asked and have not even tried to ascertain, namely, how much can Miss Anney bring to you. In a rural citizen this is proof that the thermometer shows the highest temperature of love."

"I give you my word, I would take her in a single dress," answered Krzycki.

"But you would rather she had something?"

"I will answer sincerely that I would. There are many neighbors poorer than I am and a piece of bread will never be lacking to us. But at Jastrzeb there are three of us--counting Mother, four. I am heir of one-fourth and the unsalaried manager of the three-fourths belonging to my family and Mother. I would wish that Jastrzeb would solely belong to myself and my wife, and in succession to my children, if we have any."

"As to that, I have no doubt; but as to a dowry, I am not tormented by unnecessary fears," said Gronski. "Miss Anney lives, travels, dresses, and resides in comfort, but she is not a person who would desire to create false impressions. I assume that she does not possess millions, but her fortune, particularly in comparison to our condition, may appear even more considerable than we might have thought."

"Let her have it or not have it," exclaimed Krzycki, "if she only will give herself to me. Whoever possesses that jewel can be crowned with it like a king."

"I foresee a coronation soon," replied Gronski, laughing.

IX

On account of Marynia's birthday, Miss Anney with her maid went to buy flowers. The day before, Gronski told her that he saw in one of the stores Italian rosy lilies, such as are sold in whole bundles in the vicinity of Lucca and Pisa, but which are cultivated but little in the conservatories of Warsaw and seldom imported into the country. As Marynia had inquired about them with great curiosity. Miss Anney decided to purchase for her all that could be found in the store. The previous evening she bantered Gronski, telling him that she would forestall him in the purchase, for he, as a known sleepy-head, would be unable to leave his home early enough. Determined to play a joke upon him, she left the house at eight in the morning, so as to be present at the opening of the store. She had, besides, a letter prepared, with the words "They are already bought," which she intended to send to Gronski by Pauly, and exulted at the thought that Gronski would receive it at his morning coffee.

In fact everything went according to her plans, for she was the first buyer at the store. She was disappointed only in this: that there were too few lilies. There was only one flower-pot, containing about a dozen stalks with flowers. So the decoration of Marynia's whole room with them was out of the question. But for just this reason Miss Anney eagerly bought the one sample and, paying the price asked for it, directed that it be sent to the Otocka residence. She was annoyed, however, when informed in the store that the gardener delivering flowers could not come until noon-time, for she desired that Marynia should have them before she rose from bed.

"In that case," she said, turning to Pauly, "call a hack and we will take the flower-pot with us."

But Pauly, who, though she behaved quite indifferently and even refractorily in respect to her mistress and also to Pani Otocka, had a sort of exceptional adoration, bordering on sympathy, for Marynia, replied:

"Let Madame permit me to carry these flowers alone. In the hack they will be shaken up and may fall off."

"But you are to go with the letter to Pan Gronski and, besides, you will tire yourself with the flower-pot."

"Pan Gronski's residence is on the way; and what if I do tire myself a little for the golden little lady. May I not do that much for her?"

Miss Anney understood that a refusal would cause her great vexation, therefore she said:

"Very well. You are an honest soul. But if it should be too heavy for you, take a hack. I will go to church."

And she went to church to pray for Ladislaus, who was that day to leave the house for the first time and pass the evening at Pani Otocka's, owing to Marynia's birthday. She expected that the following day he would visit her and she wanted also to commit that day to divine protection.

Pauline, taking the lilies, went in an opposite direction towards Gronski's residence. After a few score of steps the flower-pot filled with earth began to grow heavy; so, shifting it from one arm to the other, she thought:

"If it was for any one else, I would throw everything upon the ground, but she is such a bird that it is hard not to love her--I would carry for her even two such flowerpots and I would not do her any harm.--Even in case--he loved her alone."

And at this gloomy thought her countenance darkened yet more. In her heart, capable only of extreme feelings, began a struggle between her strange adoration for Marynia and her blind and passionate love for Krzycki; it was accompanied by the terrible and hopeless consciousness that under no circumstance could he be hers, as he was a young lord, heir, almost prince royal, and she a simple girl for sewing, setting the parlor in order, and household work. To this was added immediately a feeling of a prodigious wrong. Why, she might have been born also a "little lady" and not brought up in an orphan asylum, under the care of sisters of charity, but in a rich lordly home. Why was it not so, instead of the vile work of the servant's station awaiting her till death?

And here it occurred to her mind that there is now, however, a kind of people, a kind of "party," which wants to take away property from the rich, distribute it among the poor, level all people, so that there will be no rich men and paupers, no servants and lords, no wrong of any kind in the world; and in the place thereof, all ranks will be one and the same, and liberty will be identical. She had heard of this from the servants in the house, from the craftsmen, from the salesmen in the stores to which she went to make purchases, and also through overhearing the conversations of the "gentility." It surprised her that these people were called socialists, for heretofore a "socialist" and a madman roaming over the streets with knife in hand meant to her one and the same thing. For a time after the attack upon Krzycki, when the report was spread that the socialists did it, she even felt for them such furious and blind hatred that she was willing to poison them or bake them upon live fires. Later, when the servants in Jastrzeb began to repeat that the young heir was waylaid not by them, but by people of Rzeslewo, this hatred became extinguished. But subsequently, when the girl learned more accurately what the socialists aimed at and who they were, she was but little interested in them. She partly regarded their ideas as foolish and partly thought of other things more personal, and finally, she distinguished in Poland only "her own" and "not her own," loving, not knowing why, the first, and hating indiscriminately all the others. It was not until the last few days that it began to dawn in her head that among her own there existed terrible and painful differences; that for some there was wealth, for others poverty; that for a few there was enjoyment and for others toil; for some, laughter, for others, tears; for some, happiness, for others, woe and injury.

This became clear to her, particularly at that moment when with greater suffering than ever before she became aware that this young gentleman, to whom her soul and body were urged, was simply an inaccessible star, on which she was barely permitted to gaze. And although nothing had happened that day which particularly irritated her and nothing had altered, she was possessed by a despair such as she never felt before.

But the course of her gloomy meditations was finally interrupted by an external incident. Notwithstanding the early hour, she observed on the corner of the precinct a large crowd of people, agitated by some uneasiness. Their faces were turned towards the depth of a cross street, as if something unusual was taking place there. Some rushed forward while others retreated with evident fear. Some, arguing heatedly and pointing at something with their hands, looked upwards to the roofs of the houses. From all directions flocked new crowds of workingmen and striplings. Among the hack-drivers standing on the corner an unusual commotion prevailed: the drivers, in groups of varying numbers, wheeled their horses about in different directions as though they wished to blockade the street. Suddenly shrill cries resounded and then shots. In one moment an indescribable confusion arose. The throng swung to and fro and began to scamper; the cries sounded shriller and shriller each moment. It was evident that they were pursuing somebody. The girl, with her lilies, stood as if thunderstruck, not knowing what to do. Then, suddenly from amidst the hacks, a man dashed out, bent forward with lowered head, and at full speed ran towards her. On the way he flung away his cap and snatched a hat from the head of a stripling who, understanding the situation in the twinkle of an eye, did not even quiver. The hack-drivers began yet more zealously to block the street, evidently with a view to make the pursuit more difficult. But right behind them again rattled the revolver shots, and amidst the general cries and tumult already could be heard the shrill sounds of the police whistles and the hoarse, bellowing shouts of "Catch him! catch him!" A blind, excessive fright now seized Pauly, and she began to run, squeezing unconsciously to her bosom the flower-pot with the lilies, as if she wanted to save her own child.

But she had barely run a dozen or more steps when a panting, low voice began to cry close behind her:

"Lady, give me the flowers! For the mercy of God, lady, give me the flowers! Save!"

The girl turned about suddenly with consternation, and indescribable amazement was reflected in her eyes, for she recognized Laskowicz.

He, having violently wrested from her the flower-pot, to which, not knowing what she was doing, she clung with all her strength, whispered further:

"Perhaps they will not recognize me. I will tell them that I am a gardener. Save me, little lady! Perhaps they will not recognize. I am out of breath!"

She wanted to run farther but he restrained her.

In the meantime, from among the chaos of hacks, a dozen or more policemen and civil agents emerged. The majority of the mob moved at a running pace in a direction opposite to the one in which Laskowicz and the girl were going, and undoubtedly they intentionally moved that way in order to deceive the pursuers. To better hoodwink the police, cries of "Catch him!" resounded among the laborers. Some workingman began to whistle shrilly on his fingers, imitating the sound of a police whistle. Accordingly the policemen and agents plunged headlong after the dense mob. At the intersection of the streets only a few stood still, and these, after a moment's irresolution, set off in the other direction, but they ran at full speed by the girl and the man with the light hat, carrying flowers. Rushing ahead they seized a few workingmen, but other workingmen rescued them in a moment. Pauly and Laskowicz walked farther.

"They missed me," said the student. "Here no one would betray. They missed! Those flowers and another's hat fooled them. I thank you, little lady; I thank you from my whole soul, and until my death I will never be able to sufficiently repay you."

But she, not having yet entirely recovered from her amazement, began to ask:

"What happened? Where did you come from?"

"From the roof; they pounced upon us in a printing plant. The others will get a year or two and nothing more will happen to them--but for me, there would be the halter."

"How did you manage to escape?"

"When we got on the roof, I slid down the gutter-pipe. I might have broken my neck. It was not until I reached the street that they observed me. They fired shots at me, but luckily I was not hit, for the blood would have betrayed me. Whoever was alive helped me, and I was hidden by the hacks. They did not see how I changed a cap for a hat. But if it was not for my female associate it would have been all over with me."

"What female associate?"

"I speak of you, little lady, thus. Amongst us such is the custom."

"Then do not call me that, for I am no female associate."

"That is a pity. But this is not the time to speak of that. Once more I thank you for the rescue, though it is for a short time."

"Why for a short time?"

"Because I do not know what to do with myself, where to go, and where to hide. Every night I sleep in a different place but they are seeking for me everywhere."

"That is true. They were searching for you in Jastrzeb. Do you know that there was a police-search there?"

"Was there?"

"Yes. Gendarmes, police, and soldiers came. They almost put everybody under arrest."

"Oh, they would not arrest them--"

The clatter of horses' hoofs and the rattle of the horseshoes over the stony pavements interrupted for a while their conversation. From a side street ahead rode out a Cossack patrol, consisting of several scores of men. They rode slowly, with carabines resting upon their thighs and looked about cautiously. At the sight of them, Pauly became somewhat pale, while Laskowicz began to whisper:

"That is nothing. They see that I am carrying flowers from the store. They will take me for a gardener and will ride by."

In fact they did pass by.

"They are now arresting every moment people on the streets in whole crowds," said Laskowicz. "To some one else that would be a small matter; but if I once fall into their clutches, I will never be able to get out again."

"Well, what do you intend to do?"

"Carry these flowers for you, little lady."

"And after that?"

"I do not know."

"Of course you must have some acquaintances who will hide you."

"I have, I have! But the police have their eyes upon all my acquaintances. Every night there is a search. For the last two nights I slept in a printing establishment, but today they discovered the printing press."

A moment of silence followed.

After which Laskowicz again spoke in a gloomy voice:

"There is now no help for me. I will deliver these flowers and go wherever my eyes will take me."

But in the heart of the girl suddenly there awoke a great pity for him. Before that she was indifferent to him. At present she only saw in him a Polish student hunted, like a mad dog, by people whom she of old despised.

Therefore on her energetic and obstinate countenance, inflexible determination was depicted.

"Come what may, I will not desert you," she said, knitting her dark brows.

Laskowicz was suddenly seized with a desire to kiss her hand and would have done so if they were not on the street. He was moved not only by the hope of escape, but also by the fact that this girl, who hardly knew him, who did not belong to his camp, was ready to expose herself to the greatest dangers in order to come to his aid.

"What can the little lady do? Where will she hide me?" he asked quietly.

But she walked on with brows knitted by the strain of continuous thinking, and finally said:

"I know. Let us go."

He shifted the flower-pot to the left hand. "I must tell you," he said with lowered voice, "that the least punishment for concealing me is Siberia. I must tell you that! And I might cause your destruction, but in the first moments--the little lady understands--the instinct of preservation--there was no time for reflection."

The little lady did not very well understand what the instinct of preservation was, but instead understood something else. This was that if she brought him, as she intended, to Gronski's, she would expose to danger not only Gronski but also Krzycki.

And under the influence of this thought she stood as if stupefied.

"In such a case, I do not know what I can do," she said.

"Ah, you see, little lady," answered the student, as if in sorrow, while she, on her part, again began to rack her brains. It never occurred to her to conduct Laskowicz to Miss Anney's or Pani Otocka's. She felt that here masculine help was necessary and that it was imperative to find some one who would not fear and for whom she, herself, did not care. Therefore she mentally reviewed the whole array of Miss Anney's and Pani Otocka's acquaintances.--Pan Dolhanski? No!--He might be afraid or else send them to the devil and sneer at them. Dr. Szremski? He had probably left the city. Ah, were it not for this "young lord" she would conduct this poor fellow to Pan Gronski, for even if he did not receive him, at the worst he would give good advice, or would direct them to somebody. And suddenly it came to her mind that if Siberia threatened the person who concealed Laskowicz, Pan Gronski would not direct them to anybody; but if he could, he would direct them to only one man, whom she also knew. And on this thought, she dusted her dress with her hands and, turning to Laskowicz, said:

"I know now! Let us try."

After which, standing for a while, she continued:

"Let us enter this house, here, at once. You will wait with the flowers in the hallway and I will deliver the letter upstairs and return. Do not fear anything, for the doorkeeper here knows me and he is a good man. After that I may lead you somewhere."

Saying this, she entered the gate and, leaving Laskowicz below, rang, after a moment, Gronski's bell.

Gronski, rising that day earlier than usual, was already dressed and sat with Krzycki having tea. When Pauly handed him the letter, he read it and, laughing, showed it to Ladislaus; after which he rose and went to his writing desk to write an answer. During this time Ladislaus began to question her about the health of his mother and the younger ladies.

"I thank you, the ladies are well, but my lady has already gone down town."

"So early? And is not your lady afraid to go alone about the city?"

"My lady went with me and bought flowers for Panna Marynia and after that she went to church."

"To what church did she go?"

"I do not know."

Panna Pauly knew well, but she was hurt by his asking her about her mistress; while he, conjecturing this, ceased to question her further, for he had previously resolved to converse with her as little as possible.

So, silence--a little embarrassing--ensued between them, and continued until Gronski returned with the letter.

"Here is the answer," he said; "let the little lady bow for us to the ladies and say that to-day we both will be there, for Pan Krzycki's imprisonment is now ended."

"I thank you," replied Pauly, "but I have yet a favor,--I would like to learn the address of Pan Swidwicki?"

Gronski looked at her with astonishment.

"Did the ladies request you to ask?"

"No--I just wanted to know--"

"Panna Pauly," said Gronski, "Pan Swidwicki lives at No. 5 Oboznej, but it is not very safe for young girls to go to him."

She colored to the ears from fear that the "young lord" might think something bad about her.

And she hesitated for a while whether she should tell that Laskowicz was in the hallway and that it was necessary to hide him, as otherwise destruction awaited him. But again she recollected that Laskowicz had been sought in Jastrzeb and that Krzycki, on account of that had been almost arrested. A fear possessed her that perhaps Gronski himself might want to hide the student and in such case would jeopardize the young lord. She looked once or twice at the shapely form of Krzycki and decided to remain silent.

But Gronski spoke further:

"I do not advise you to go to him. I do not advise it. It is said that you once gave him a tongue-lashing."

And she, raising her head, answered at once haughtily and indignantly:

"Then I will give him a tongue-lashing a second time; but I have some business with him."

And bowing, she left. Gronski shrugged his shoulders and said:

"I cannot understand what she is concerned about. There is something strange in that girl, and I tell you that your future lady gives evidence of holy patience, that she has not dismissed her before this. She always says that she is a violent character but has a golden heart, and that may be possible. I know, however, from Pani Otocka that the golden heart enacts for her such scenes as no one else would tolerate."

X

In the evening of Marynia's birthday, Ladislaus and Miss Anney for a time found themselves at some distance from the rest of the company, at a cottage piano, decorated with flowers. His eyes shone with joy and happiness. He felt fortunate that his imprisonment had ended and that he could again gaze upon this, his lady, whom he loved with the whole strength of a young heart.

"I know," he told her, "that you were this morning in the city and bought flowers. I learned this from your maid, who brought the letter to Pan Gronski. Afterwards you went to church. I asked her to which one, as I wanted to go there, but the maid did not know."

"That is strange, for she knows that I always go to the Holy Cross, and at times I even take her with me. I am there, daily, at the morning mass."

"She told me that she did not know," answered Ladislaus. "Will you be there to-morrow?"

"Yes; unless the weather should be very inclement."

Ladislaus lowered his voice:

"I ask because I have a great and heartfelt prayer. Permit me to come there at the same hour and before the same altar."

Blushes suffused Miss Anney's countenance and her breast began to move more quickly. She inclined her head somewhat and placing the edge of the fan to her lips answered in a low voice:

"I have not the right to forbid nor to permit. The church is open to all the pious."

"Yes. But I want to kneel a while beside you--together, and not with customary humility; but for a special purpose. As to my piety, I will candidly state that I believe in God, ah! especially now--I believe in God and in His goodness; but heretofore I have not been very pious--just like all others. When, however, a whole life is concerned, then even a man, totally unbelieving, is ready to kneel and pray. To kneel beside you, that alone is an immense boon, for it is as if one had beside him an angel. And I want to beg for something else: and that is that we should together, at the same time, say 'Under Thy protection we flee, Holy Mother of God.'"

Ladislaus became pale from emotion and on his forehead beads of perspiration appeared. For a time he remained silent, to permit the too violent beating of his heart to subside. After which he again spoke:

"'We flee'--that will mean us both. Nothing more, dear, dearest lady, nothing more. After that I will go, and in the afternoon, if you permit, I will come to your residence and will tell you everything which has collected within me from the time I first saw you in Jastrzeb. In your hands, lady, lies my fate, but I must, I must divulge it all; otherwise my bosom will burst. But if you, lady, will agree to a joint prayer of 'Under Thy protection,' before that time, then I shall be so happy that I do not know how I will survive until to-morrow."

And she looked at him guilelessly and straight in his eyes with the celestial streak of the hazy pupils of her eyes and answered:

"Come to church to-morrow."