springing up; "I do not dream of it! That is from frost." She laughed joyously, but the laughter was rather forced. Then, wishing to turn attention from herself, she pointed to the stall in which was the steed given Pan Michael by the hetman, and said with animation, "You say it is impossible to go to that horse? Now let us see!"
And before Pan Michael could restrain her, she had sprung into the stall. The fierce beast began to rear, to paw, and to put back his ears.
"For God's sake! he will kill you!" cried Pan Michael, springing after her.
But Basia had begun already to stroke with her palm the shoulder of the horse, repeating, "Let him kill! let him kill!"
But the horse turned to her his steaming nostrils and gave a low neigh, as if rejoiced at the fondling.
CHAPTER XI.
All the nights that Pan Michael had spent were nothing in comparison with the night after that adventure with Krysia. For, behold, he had betrayed the memory of his dead one, and he loved that memory. He had deceived the confidence of the living woman, had abused friendship, had contracted certain obligations, had acted like a man without conscience. Another soldier would have made nothing of such a kiss, or, what is more, would have twisted his mustache at thought of it; but Pan Michael was squeamish, especially since the death of Anusia, as is every man who has a soul in pain and a torn heart. What was left for him to do, then? How was he to act?
Only a few days remained until his departure; that departure would cut short everything. But was it proper to go without a word to Krysia, and leave her as he would leave any chamber-maid from whom he might steal a kiss? The brave heart of Pan Michael trembled at the thought. Even in the struggle in which he was then, the thought of Krysia filled him with pleasure, and the remembrance of that kiss passed through him with a quiver of delight. Rage against his own head seized him; still he could not refrain from a feeling of sweetness. And he took the whole blame on himself.
"I brought Krysia to that," repeated he, with bitterness and pain; "I brought her to it, therefore it is not just for me to go away without a word. What, then? Make a proposal, and go away Krysia's betrothed?"
Here the form of Anusia stood before the knight, dressed in white, and pale herself as wax, just as he had laid her in the coffin. "This much is due me," said the figure, "that you mourn and grieve for me. You wished at first to become a monk, to bewail me all your life; but now you are taking another before my poor soul could fly to the gates of heaven. Ah! wait, let me reach heaven first; let me cease looking at the earth."
And it seemed to the knight that he was a species of perjurer before that bright soul whose memory he should honor and hold as sacred. Sorrow and immeasurable shame seized him, and self-contempt. He desired death.
"Anulya,"[11] repeated he, on his knees, "I shall not cease to bewail thee till death; but what am I to do now?"
The white form gave no answer to that as it vanished like a light mist; and instead of it appeared in the imagination of the knight Krysia's eyes and her lip covered with down, and with it temptations from which the knight wished to free himself. So his heart was wavering in uncertainty, suffering, and torment. At moments it came to his head to go and confess all to Zagloba, and take counsel of that man whose reason could settle all difficulties. And he had foreseen everything; he had told beforehand what it was to enter into "friendship" with fair heads. But just that view restrained the little knight. He recollected how sharply he had called to Pan Zagloba, "Do not offend Panna Krysia, sir!" And now, who had offended Panna Krysia? Who was the man who had thought, "Is it not best to leave her like a chamber-maid and go away?"
"If it were not for that dear one up there, I would not hesitate a moment," thought the knight, "I should not be tormented at all; on the contrary, I should be glad in soul that I had tasted such delight." After a while he muttered, "I would take it willingly a hundred times." Seeing, however, that temptations were flocking around him, he shook them off again powerfully, and began to reason in this way: "It is all over. Since I have acted like one who is not desirous of friendship, but who is looking for satisfaction from Cupid, I must go by that road, and tell Krysia tomorrow that I wish to marry her."
Here he stopped awhile, then thought further thuswise: "Through which declaration the confidence of to-day will become quite proper, and to-morrow I can permit myself—" But at this moment he struck his mouth with his palm. "Tfu!" said he; "is a whole chambul of devils sitting behind my collar?"
But still he did not set aside his plan of making the declaration, thinking to himself simply: "If I offend the dear dead one, I can conciliate her with Masses and prayer; by this I shall show also that I remember her always, and will not cease in devotion. If people wonder and laugh at me because two weeks ago I wanted from sorrow to be a monk, and now have made a declaration of love to another, the shame will be on my side alone. If I make no declaration, the innocent Krysia will have to share my shame and my fault. I will propose to her to-morrow; it cannot be otherwise," said he, at last.
He calmed himself then considerably; and when he had repeated "Our Father," and prayed earnestly for Anusia, he fell asleep. In the morning, when he woke, he repeated, "I will propose to-day." But it was not so easy to propose, for Pan Michael did not wish to inform others, but to talk with Krysia first, and then act as was proper. Meanwhile Pan Adam arrived in the early morning, and filled the whole house with his presence.
Krysia went about as if poisoned; the whole day she was pale, worried, sometimes dropped her eyes, sometimes blushed so that the color went to her neck; at times her lips quivered as if she were going to cry; then again she was as if dreamy and languid. It was difficult for the knight to approach her, and especially to remain long alone with her. It is true he might have taken her to walk, for the weather was wonderful, and some time before he would have done so without any scruple; but now he dared not, for it seemed to him that all would divine on the spot what his object was,—all would think he was going to propose.
Pan Adam saved him. He took Pani Makovetski aside, conversed with her a good while touching something, then both returned to the room in which the little knight was sitting with the two young ladies and Pan Zagloba, and said, "You young people might have a ride in two sleighs, for the snow is sparkling."
At this Pan Michael inclined quickly to Krysia's ear and said, "I beg you to sit with me. I have a world of things to say."
"Very well," answered Krysia.
Then the two men hastened to the stables, followed by Basia; and in the space of a few "Our Fathers," the two sleighs were driven up before the house. Pan Michael and Krysia took their places in one. Pan Adam and the little haiduk in the other, and moved on without drivers.
When they had gone, Pani Makovetski turned to Zagloba and said, "Pan Adam has proposed for Basia."
"How is that?" asked Zagloba, alarmed.
"His godmother, the wife of the chamberlain of Lvoff, is to come here to-morrow to talk with me; Pan Adam himself has begged of me permission to talk with Basia, even hintingly, for he understands himself that if Basia is not his friend, the trouble and pains will be useless."
"It was for this that you, my benefactress, sent them sleigh-riding?"
"For this. My husband is very scrupulous. More than once he has said to me, 'I will guard their property, but let each choose a husband for herself; if he is honorable, I will not
