haze, was Kremen, which Marynia had loved and which she had lost. Pan Stanislav, fixing his eyes on the haze, said to himself,—
“I am curious to know what she would have done had I given Kremen to her.”
He could not imagine that to himself definitely; but he thought that the loss of that land was for her a great bitterness really, and he regretted it. In this sorrow his anger began to scatter and vanish as mist. His conscience whispered that he had received what he earned. Returning, he said to himself, “But I am thinking of all this continually.”
And really he was. Never had he experienced, in the most important money questions, even half the disquiet, never had he been absorbed so deeply. And again he remembered what Vaskovski had said of himself, that his nature, like Pan Stanislav’s, could not fix its whole power on the acquisition of money. Never had he felt with such clearness that there might be questions more important than those of wealth, and simply more positive. For the second time a certain astonishment seized him.
It was nearly nine when he went to Bigiel’s. Bigiel was sitting in a spacious, empty house with doors opening on the garden veranda; he was playing on a violoncello in such fashion that everything through the house was quivering. When he saw Pan Stanislav he broke off a certain tremolo and inquired,—
“Hast thou been at the Plavitskis’ to-day?”
“Yes.”
“How was the young lady?”
“Like a decanter of chilled water. On such a hot day that is agreeable. They are polite people, however.”
“I foresaw this.”
“Play on.”
Bigiel began to play “Träumerei,” and while playing closed his eyes, or turned them to the moon. In the stillness the music seemed to fill with sweetness the house, the garden, and the night itself. When he had finished, he was silent for a time, and then said,—
“Knowest what? When Pani Emilia comes, my wife will ask her to the country, and with her Marynia. Maybe those ices will thaw then between you.”
“Play the ‘Träumerei’ once more.”
The sounds were given out a second time, with calmness and imagination. Pan Stanislav was too young not to be somewhat of a dreamer; hence he imagined that Marynia was listening with him to the “Träumerei,” with her hand in his hands, with her head on his bosom, loving much, and beloved above all in the world.
CHAPTER X.
Pan Plavitski was what is called a well-bred man, for he returned Pan Stanislav’s visit on the third day. He did not return it on the second, for such haste would have indicated a wish to maintain intimate relations; and not on the fourth nor the fifth, for that would have shown a want of acquaintance with the habits of society,—but only within the period most specially and exclusively indicated by command of savoir vivre. Plavitski prided himself all his life on a knowledge of those commands, and esteemed them as his own; the observances of them he considered as the highest human wisdom. It is true that, as a man of sense, he permitted other branches of knowledge to exist, on condition, however, that they should not be overestimated; and especially, that they should not have the claim to force themselves on to people who were truly well-bred.
Pan Stanislav—for whom everything was desirable that would strengthen in any way the thread of further relations with Marynia—was hardly able to conceal his delight at the arrival of Plavitski. That delight was evident in his agreeable reception, full of good-humor. He must have been astonished, besides, at Plavitski, and the influence which the city had exercised on him. His hair shone like the wing of a raven; his little mustaches were sticking up, vying with the color of his hair; his white shirt covered a slender form; his scarf-pin and black vest gave a certain holiday brilliancy to his whole figure.
“On my word, I did not recognize my uncle at the first moment!” cried Pan Stanislav. “I thought that some youngster was coming.”
“Bon jour, bon jour!” answered Plavitski. “The day is cloudy; a little dark here. It must be for that reason that thou didst mistake me for a stripling.”
“Cloudy or clear, what a figure!” answered Pan Stanislav.
And seizing Plavitski by the side, without ceremony, he began to turn him around and say—
“A waist just like a young lady’s! Would that I might have such a one!”
Plavitski, offended greatly by such an unceremonious greeting, but still more delighted at the admiration roused by his person, said, defending himself,—
“Voyons! Thou art a lunatic. I might be angry. Thou art a lunatic!”
“But uncle will turn as many heads as he pleases.”
“What dost thou say?” asked Plavitski, sitting down in an armchair.
“I say that uncle has come here for conquest.”
“I have no thought whatever of that. Thou art a lunatic!”
“But Pani Yamish? or haven’t I seen with my own eyes—”
“What?”
Here Plavitski shut one eye and thrust out the point of his tongue; but that lasted only an instant, then he raised his brows, and said,—
“Well, as to Pani Yamish? She is well enough in Kremen. Between thee and me, I cannot endure affectation,—it savors of the country. May the Lord God not remember, for Pani Yamish, how much she has tortured me with her affectation: a woman should have courage to grow old, then a relation would end in friendship; otherwise it becomes slavery.”
“And my dear uncle felt like a butterfly in bonds?”
“But don’t talk in that way,” answered Plavitski, with dignity, “and do not imagine that there was anything between us. Even if there had been, thou wouldst not have heard a word about it from me. Believe me, there is a great difference between you of this and us of the preceding generation. We were not saints, perhaps; but we knew how to be silent, and that is a great virtue, without which what is called true nobility cannot exist.”
“From this I infer that uncle will not confess to me where he is going, with this carnation in his buttonhole?”
“Oh, yes, yes! Mashko invited me to-day to dine with a number of other persons. At first I refused, not wishing to leave Marynia alone. But I have sat so many years in the country for her sake that in truth a little recreation is due to me. But art thou not invited?”
“No.”
“That astonishes me: thou art, as thou sayest, an ‘affairist’; but thou bearest a good family name. For that matter, Mashko is an advocate himself. But, in general, I confess that I did not suspect in Mashko the power to place himself as he has.”
“Mashko could place himself even on his head—”
“He
