which was a verst distant and in which was located the tomb of the Zarnowskis. Gronski gave his arm to Pani Krzycki, Dolhanski to Pani Otocka, while the duty of escorting the light-haired Miss Anney fell to Krzycki. After an interval, the funeral cortege slowly proceeded in the direction of the cemetery.
From under the shade of church lindens it soon advanced upon the field-road, flooded with sunshine, and extended itself in a long line. At the head went the priests; after them the coffin, swung high up on the shoulders of the peasants; the relatives and guests followed, and after them came swarms of gay peasant national dresses and feminine handkerchiefs gaudily spotted with yellow and red colors, which glaringly contrasted with the green, sprouting spring corn. Church flags, with skulls and pictures of saints, floated heavily in the golden air and at times heaved with a flap when assailed by the wind. In this manner, glistening in the sun, the crowd approached the poplars which shaded the cemetery. From time to time the chant of priests resounded, breaking out suddenly and with great sadness. Nearer the cemetery the peasants commenced the litany and gusts of wind seized these Polish and Latin songs and carried them with the odor of candles, which were continually blown out, and the scent of the drippings of the torches to the forests.
Krzycki, who escorted Miss Anney, observed that her hand, which rested upon his arm, trembled considerably. It occurred to him that she probably had tired it, holding her parasol on the road from Jastrzeb to Rzeslewo, and he paid no more attention to it. In the conviction that such a solemnity as a funeral exempted him from starting the usual social conversation, he walked in silence. He was fatigued and hungry. Disordered thoughts rushed into his head. He thought of his uncle, Zarnowski, of his inability to mourn for him, of the funeral, of his newly-arrived cousins, and of yesterday's conversation with Gronski. At times he would gaze, abstractedly, at the near by fields and half-consciously would note that the winter-corn on the fertile Rzeslewo soil, as well as the spring grain, gave promise of a bountiful harvest. After a certain time he recollected that it would be proper for him to devote a little more attention to his companion.
Somehow, after a few stealthy glances, his curiosity, which thus far had been deadened by fatigue, hunger, and ill-humor, was awakened. The proximity of a woman, young and, as he observed, stately, began to affect him. It seemed strange to him in the first place that he was conducting over the Rzeslewo highway an Englishwoman, who came, the Lord knew from where; that a short while before he was unacquainted with her and at present felt the warmth of her arm and hand. He observed also that her hand, tightly incased in a glove, though shapely, was not at all small; and he thought that the reasons for this were the English sports--tennis, rowing, archery, and the like. "Our Polish women," he thought, "look differently." Under the influence of these reflections upon English sports, it seemed to him that from this quaintly attired form some peculiar power, healthiness, and energy emanated. His companion began to interest him more and more. Leading her on his arm, he could see only her profile, upon which he bestowed increased attention. As a consequence of more exact observation, his curiosity intensified. In the first moments he conceded only that she was a comely and buxom person, but later he soliloquized in this fashion: "How vastly more stately and, sincerely speaking, more beautiful she is than Pani Otocka or that child, whose dresses reach to her ankles and whose soul, as Gronski says, is in the violin!" But this, however, was not the strict truth, for Pani Otocka, a slender brunette with the expression of a blonde, was of a type more exquisite and racial, and the "child" had a countenance simply angelic. But at that particular moment, if a secret ballot had been taken upon this question, Krzycki, owing perhaps to his opposition to his mother's designs, would have cast his vote for Miss Anney.
After a certain time, it seemed to him that Miss Anney also was casting stealthy glances at him. He determined to catch her in the act and looked at her more openly. And then he saw something which astonished him in the highest degree. On the cheeks of the young Englishwoman tear after tear coursed. Her lips were compressed as if she desired to stifle her impressions and her hand, supported on his arm, did not cease to tremble.
"Either this is affected sensibility," Krzycki thought, "or else her English nerves are jangled. Why the deuce should she weep over a man whom she never saw in her life? Unless it reminded her of her father's burial or that of some near relative?"
Miss Anney did not look at all like a person with jangled nerves. Somehow, after a time, her emotion passed. She began to gaze with particular interest and attention upon the throng of people, the neighborhood, the fields, and the distant fringe of the forest as if she desired to retain them all permanently in her memory.
"She should have taken a kodak with her," thought Ladislaus.
They were already not far from the cemetery gates. But in the meanwhile a wind stronger than the former gusts broke loose. It swept suddenly across the field of sprouting grain, raised a cloud of dust on the highway, snuffed out the mendicant candles which were not extinguished before, and entwined Krzycki's neck with Miss Anney's long boa.
She relinquished his arm and, freeing him from his ties, said in Polish with an almost imperceptible foreign accent:
"I beg your pardon. The wind--"
"That is nothing," answered Ladislaus. "Perhaps you would prefer to take a carriage, for the squalls are breaking out more frequently."
"No, thank you," she replied; "I believe we are near the cemetery. I will walk alone, because I must hold my boa and dress."
During this conversation they stood opposite each other for a moment and, although that moment was brief, Ladislaus made a new discovery. Not only did he confirm his previous opinion that Miss Anney was, in reality, very beautiful and had an extraordinarily transparent complexion, set off with light hair, but above all else that her blue eyes did not radiate with two separate beams, but rather with a single, gentle, blue, slightly misty, soulful light. He was unable to explain to himself in what lay the distinct and peculiar charm of that look, but he felt it perfectly.
In the meantime, they reached the cemetery. A short prayer detained all at the gates, after which the funeral cortege moved between the poplars, swung by the winds, and crosses overgrown by luxuriant grass on the mounds, under which slept the Rzeslewo peasantry. The Zarnowski tomb stood in the centre. In its front walls could be seen an opening, knocked out for the reception of a new member of the family. At the side there were two masons, with whitened aprons, having at their feet prepared cement and a pile of new bricks. The coffin was placed upon the sand near the opening and the priests began a long chant over it. Their voices rose and then fell, like waves, in a rolling and dreamy rhythm, which was accompanied by the roar of the poplars, the flapping of the flags in the air, and the hum of prayers uttered, as if mechanically, by the peasants. Then the parish-priest of Rzeslewo began a discourse. As he did not live on good terms with the deceased, he commended his soul to the divine mercy rather than praised him. About could be seen the faces of the Zarnowski relatives, grave and appropriately grouped for the occasion, but no grief, not a tear. They were rather indifferent, with an expression of expectancy, and even tedium. The coffin appeared to be only awaiting the close of the rites, as if it was anxious to enter that vault and darkness, for which it was appropriately designed. In the meantime, after the sermon, songs began to ring. At moments they subsided, and then could be heard only the revelry of wind among the poplars. At last a high voice, as if startled, intoned "requiem aeternam" and fell suddenly like a pillar of dust twirled by the storm; and after a momentary silence "eternal repose," full of solace, resounded and the ceremony was over.
On the coffin they threw a few handfulls of sand, and then pushed it into the opening which the masons began to wall up, laying brick upon brick and coating them with mortar. The barrier, which was to forever separate Zarnowski from the world and light, grew with each moment. Groups of peasants slowly left the cemetery. Two female neighbors from Gorek, a Pani Wlocek, an old and pathetic dame, and her daughter, who was not young, approached Pani Krzycki and felt it incumbent upon them to offer a "few words of consolation," which nobody expected and which were absolutely unnecessary.
