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
