In Vain

CHAPTER XIII

Helena was not at home. Yosef waited several hours for her, walking unquietly up and down in her chamber. He resolved at whatever cost to come out of the false position in which he had been put by his guardianship over the widow and over the countess, but he acknowledged to himself that this resolution brought him pain. That pain was great, almost physical. Yosef had come to ask Helena's hand, but it seemed to him at that moment that he could not endure her. He was rushing toward the other with heart and mind; thou wouldst have said that he felt a prayer in his own breast, that he begged of his own will for a moment more of that other. He loved Lula as only energetic natures can love who are apparently cold.

He prepared himself for the meeting with Helena, and he foresaw that it would cost him no little. There is nothing more repulsive than to tell a woman who is not loved that she is loved. That is one of the least possible hypocrisies for a real manly nature. Yosef on a time had loved Helena, but he had ceased to love her, even before he had observed how and how much he had become attached to Lula. When he saw this he had a moment of weakness; he felt this new love, and he feared to think of it and confess it. When his heart spoke too loudly, he said to it: "Be silent!" And he closed his ears, fearing his own possible actions and especially decisions for the future. This was not in accordance with him, and could not last long.

Augustinovich with his peculiar cynicism cast this love in his eyes, and forced him to meet it face to face. Further evasion was now impossible. Yosef stood up to the battle, and went from it to Helena.

But he did not go without traces of a struggle. He had a fever in his blood, and he could not think calmly. Various pictures of small but dear memories came to his mind, wherewith at that moment he believed more than ever that Lula loved him.

"Have I the right to destroy her happiness too?" This imbecile thought roared in him like the last arrow of conquered warriors. He broke it, however, with the reflection that between him and Helena there was an obligation, between him and Lula nothing.

Other difficulties belonged to the result of Yosef's decision. The decision was honest, but still to turn it into reality he had to lie, and then to lie all his life by pretending love. Evil appeared as a result of good. "Ei, shall I not have to go mad?" thought he. "And this life will be snarled like a thread. Every one is whirling round after happiness, as a dog after his own tail, and every man is chasing it with equal success." Ho! Yosef, who did not love declamation, had still fallen into the dialectics of unhappiness. Such a philosophy has a charm: a man loves his misfortune as a happiness.

Meanwhile evening came, but Helena was not to be seen. Yosef supposed that she must have gone to the cemetery, and he did not himself know why that thought made him angry on that occasion.

He lighted a candle and began to walk through the room. By chance his glance fell on Potkanski. Yosef had not known him, and did not like him, though for the justification of his antipathy he could hardly bring in the words "lord's son."

When he looked again at that broad, calm face, something glittered in his eyes which was almost like hatred.

"And for her I am only the counterfeit of that man there," thought he.

These words were not true, Yosef differed altogether in character from Potkanski, and Helena loved him now for himself; nevertheless the thought pricked him, he would have given much if Helena had not on a time been the wife of that man there, and had not had a child by him. "And I shall have a child," said he, "a son whom I shall rear into a man, strong and practical."

"Ah, if that future child were mine and Lula's!"

He shook feverishly and pressed his lips; a few drops of perspiration glittered on his forehead. In the last thought there was a whole ocean of desire.

He sat in that way for half an hour yet before Helena came. She was dressed in black, with which color her pale complexion and blond hair came out excellently. When she saw Yosef she smiled timidly; but great pleasure was in that smile, for he had been a rare guest in recent times.

Happily for her, she had enough of tact or of feminine foresight not to reproach him; she did not dare, either, to rejoice aloud at his coming, since she knew not what he was bringing. But the palm which she gave him embraced his hand firmly and broadly. That palm quivered with the heartfelt language of movements interpreting fear and feeling when lips are silent.

With a melancholy smile and hand so extended she was enchanting with the inexpressible charm of an enamoured woman. If she had had a star in her hair, she might have passed simply for an angel,—perhaps she had even the aureole around her head which love gives,—but for Yosef she was not an angel, nor had she an aureole; but he touched her hand with his lips.

"Be seated, Helena, near me, and listen," said he. "I have not been here for a long time, and I wish that the former freedom and confidence should return to us."

She threw aside her cape and hat, arranged her hair with her hand, and sat down in silence. Great alarm was evident on her face.

"I hear thee, Yosef."

"It is four years since the death of Gustav, who confided thee to me. I have kept the promise given him as well as I was able, and as I knew how, but the relation between us has not been such as it should be. This must change, Helena."

He needed to draw breath, he had to pronounce sentence on himself.

In the silence which lasted awhile, the beating of Helena's heart could be heard. Her face was pale, her eyes blinked quickly, as is usual with women who are frightened.

"Must they change?" whispered she, in a scarcely audible voice.

"Be my wife."

"Yosef!"

She placed her hands together, as if for prayer, and looked at him a moment with eyes wandering because of pressing thoughts and feelings.

"Be my wife. The time of which I spoke to thee before has come."

She threw her arms around his neck, and put her head on his breast.

"Thou art not trifling with me, Yosef? No, no! Then I shall be happy yet? Oh, I love thee so!"

Helena's bosom rose and fell, her face was radiant, and her lips approached his.

"Oh, I have been very sad, very lonely," continued she, "but I believed in thee. The heart trusts when it loves. Thou art mine! I only live through thee—what is life? If one laughs and is joyful, if one is sad and weeps, if one thinks and loves—that is life. But I rejoice and I weep only through thee, I think of thee, I love thee. If people wished to divide us I should tear out my hair and bind thy feet with it. I am like a flame which thou mayst blow. I am thine—let me weep! Dost thou love me?"

"I love."

"I have wept for so many years, but not such tears as I shed to-day. It is so bright in my soul! Let me close my eyes and look at that brightness. How much happiness in one word! Oh, Yosef, my Yosef, I know not even how to think of this."

It was grievous for him to hear words like those from Helena; he felt the immense falsehood and discord in which his life had to flow with that woman thenceforward, that woman so beautiful, so greatly loving, and loved so little.

He rose and took farewell of her.

Helena, left alone, placed her burning forehead against a pane of the window, and long did she stand thus in silence. At last she opened the window, and, placing her head on her palm, looked into the broad, sparkling summer night. Silent tears flowed down her face, her golden tresses fell upon her bosom, the moonlight was moving upon her forehead and putting a silvery whiteness on her dress.

CHAPTER XIV

A few days later Augustinovich was sitting in Yosef's lodgings; he was working vigorously in view of the approaching examination. Loving effect in all things, he had shaded the windows, and in the middle of the room had placed a table, before which he was standing at that moment. Evidently he was occupied with some experiment, for on the table was a multitude of old glass vessels and pots full of powders and fluids, and in the centre was burning a spirit lamp, which surrounded with a blue flame the stupid head of a retort which was quivering under the influence of boiling liquid contained in it.

Work burned, as they said, in the hands of Augustinovich; no one could labor so quickly as he. With a glad smile on his face he moved really with enthusiasm, frequently entertaining himself with a song or a dialogue with the first vessel he took up, or with a pious remark on the fleeting nature of this world.

Sometimes he left his work for a moment, and raising his eyes and his hands declaimed in tones which were very tragic,—

Then again in a hundred trills and cadences he sang,—

"O piano! piano!—Zitto! pia-ha-ha-no!"

Or similar creations of his own mind on a sudden,—

"By Mohammed! If Yosef should come, this work would go on more quickly; but he is marrying Helena at present—Ei! and as innocence is dear to me, I would fix it this way! Dear Helena, permit—And what farther? Oh, the farther the better—"

All at once some one pulled the bell.

Augustinovich turned toward the door and extending his hand intoned,—

The door opened; a man young and elegantly dressed entered the room.

Augustinovich did not know him.

The most important notable trait of the newly arrived was a velvet sack-coat and light-colored trousers; besides, he was washed, shaven, and combed. His face was neither stupid nor clever, neither beautiful nor ugly, neither kind nor malicious, moreover he was neither tall nor of low stature. His nose, mouth, chin, and forehead were medium; special marks he had none.

"Does Pan Yosef Shvarts live here?"

"It is certain that he lives here."

"Is it possible to see him?"

"It is possible at this time; but in the night, when it is very dark, the case is different."

The newly arrived began to lose patience; but Augustinovich's face expressed rather gladness than malice.

"The owner of this house sent me to Pan Yosef as to a man who knows the address and the fate of Countess Leocadia N——. Could you give me some explanations as to her?"

"Oh yes, she is very nice!"

"That is not the question."

"Just that, indeed. Were I to answer that she is as ugly as night, would you be curious to make her acquaintance? No, no, by the prophet!"

"My name is Pelski; I am her cousin."

"Oh, I am not her cousin at all!"

The newly arrived frowned.

"Either you do not understand me, or you are trifling."

"Not at all, though Pani Visberg always insists that I am—But you are not acquainted with Pani Visberg. She is an excellent woman. She is distinguished by this, that she has a daughter, though it is nothing great to have a daughter; but she is as rich as Jupiter!"

"Sir!"

"Now I hear steps on the stairs,—Pan Yosef is coming surely. I will lay a wager with you that he is coming—"

Indeed, the door opened and Yosef walked in. One would have said that his severe and intelligent face had matured in the last few hours; in its expression was the calm energy of a man who had already decided on the means of advance in the future.

"This is Pan Pelski, Yosef," said Augustinovich.

Yosef looked at the newly arrived inquiringly.

Meanwhile Pelski explained to him the object of his coming; and though at news of the relationship of the young man to Lula his forehead wrinkled slightly, he gave him her address without hesitation.

"I take farewell of you," said Yosef, at last; "the countess will be greatly delighted to find in you a cousin, but it is a pity that she could not have found a relative two months ago."

Pelski muttered something unintelligible. Evidently Yosef's figure and style of intercourse imposed on him no little.

"Why give him Lula's address?" asked Augustinovich.

"Because I should have acted ridiculously had I refused."

"But I did not give it."

"What didst thou tell him?"

"A thousand things except the address. I did not know whether thou wouldst be satisfied if I gave it."

"He would have found the address anyhow."

"Oh, it will be pleasant at Pani Visberg's. Wilt thou go there to-day?"

"No."

"And to-morrow?"

"No."

"But when?"

"Never."

"It is no trick, old man, to flee before danger."

"I am no knight errant, I am not Don Quixote, I choose rather to avoid dangers and conquer than choose them and fall. Not Middle-Age boasting commands me, but reason."

A moment of silence followed.

"Wert thou at Helena's yesterday?" asked Augustinovich.

"I was."

"When will the marriage be?"

"Right away after I receive my degree."

"Maybe it is better for thee that the affair ends thus."

"Why dost thou say that?"

"I do not know but thou wilt be angry; but Lula—now, I do not believe her—"

Yosef's eyes gleamed with a wonderful light; he put his hand on Augustinovich's shoulder.

"Say nothing bad of her," said he, with emphasis.

He wished, indeed, that the countess, torn from him by the force of circumstances, should remain in his mind unblemished. He took pleasure in thinking of her.

"What am I to tell her when she asks about thee?" inquired Augustinovich, after a short silence.

"Tell her the truth, tell her that I am going to marry another."

"Ei, old man, I will tell her something else."

"Why?" asked Yosef, looking him in the eyes.

"Oh, so!"

"Speak clearly."

"She seems to love thee."

Yosef's face flushed; he knew Lula's feeling, but that information from the lips of another startled him. It filled his breast with sweetness and as it were with despair together with the sweetness.

"Who told thee that?" asked he.

"Malinka; she tells me everything."

"Then tell Lula that I marry another from inclination and duty."

"Amen!" concluded Augustinovich.

In the evening he went to Pani Visberg's; Malinka opened the door to him.

"Oh, is this you?" said she, with a blush.

Augustinovich seized her hands and kissed them repeatedly.

"Oh, Pan Adam! that is not permitted, not permitted," insisted the blushing girl.

"It is, it is!" answered he, in a tone of deep conviction. "But—but," continued he, removing his overcoat and buttoning his gloves (he was dressed with uncommon elegance), "was some young man here this afternoon?"

"He was; he will come in the evening."

"So much the better."

Augustinovich went into the drawing-room with Malinka. The drawing-room had somehow a look of importance, as if for the reception of a notable guest. On the table a double lamp was burning, the piano was open.

"Why did Pan Yosef not come with you?"

"The same question from the countess will meet me. In every case permit me to defer my answer till she asks."

The countess did not keep them waiting long. She entered, dressed in black, with simply a few pearls in her hair.

"But Pan Yosef?" asked she at once.

"He is not coming."

"Why?"

"He is occupied. Building his future."

The countess was wounded by the thought that Yosef would not come.

"But do you not help him in that labor?" asked she.

"May my guardian angel keep me from such work."

"It must be very difficult."

"Like every new building."

"Why does he work so?"

"Duty."

"I believe that Pan Yosef builds everything on that foundation."

"This time it will be more difficult for him than ever before. But somebody is coming—that is your cousin. What a splendid man!"

Pan Pelski entered the drawing-room; soon after came Pani Visberg also.

After the greetings conversation began to circle about in the ocean of commonplace.

Augustinovich took little part in it. He sat in an armchair, partly closed his eyes with an expression of indifference toward everything. He had the habit of closing his eyes while making observations, when nothing escaped his notice.

Count Pelski (we had forgotten to state that he had that title) sat near Lula, twirling in his fingers the string of his eyeglasses, and conversing with her vivaciously.

"Till I came to Kieff," said he, "I knew nothing of the misfortune which had met our whole family, but especially you, through the death of your esteemed father."

"Did you know my father?" asked Lula, with a sigh.

"No, cousin. I knew only that unfortunate quarrels and lawsuits separated our families for a number of years. I knew nothing of those quarrels, since I was young and always absent, and if I am to make a confession my present visit was undertaken only as an attempt at reconciliation."

"What was the degree of relationship between you and my father?"

"Reared abroad, I know little of our family relations in general; for example, I am indebted to a lucky chance for discovering not our relationship, of which I was aware, but other intimate bonds connecting our families from of old."

"Is it permitted to inquire about this circumstance?"

"With pleasure, cousin. Having taken on me, after the death of my father, the management of my property and family affairs, I looked into the papers and various documents touching my family. Well, in these documents I discovered that your family is not only related to the Pelskis, but has the same escutcheon."

"To a certain extent, then, we are to thank chance for our acquaintance."

"I bless this chance, cousin."

Lula dropped her eyes, her small hand twisted the end of her scarf; after a while she raised her head.

"And for me it is equally pleasant," said she.

The shadow of a smile flew over Augustinovich's face.

"I had much difficulty in finding your lodgings. This gentleman" (Pelski indicated Augustinovich with one eye) "has a marvellous method of giving answers. Fortunately his room-mate came; he gave me an answer at last."

"I lived in the same house as they," added the countess.

"How did you become acquainted with them, cousin?"

"When father fell ill, Pan Shvarts watched him in his last hours; afterward he found Pani Visberg, and I am much indebted to him."

Augustinovich's closed eyelids opened a little, and the sneering expression vanished from his face.

"Is he a doctor?" asked Pelski.

"He will be a doctor soon."

Pelski meditated a moment.

"I was acquainted in Heidelberg with a professor and writer of the same name. From what family is this man?"

"Oh, I do not know, indeed," answered the countess, blushing deeply.

Augustinovich's eyes opened to their full width, and with an indescribable expression of malice he turned toward the countess.

"I thought," said he, "that you knew perfectly whence Pan Yosef came, and what his family is."

Lula's confusion reached the highest degree.

"I—do not remember," groaned she.

"Do you not? Then I will remind you. Pan Yosef was born in Zvinogrodets, where his father in his day was a blacksmith."

Pelski looked at his cousin, and bending toward her said with sympathy,—

"I am pained, cousin, at the fatality which forced you to live with people of a different sphere."

Lula sighed.

Oh, evil, evil was that sigh. Lula knew that among those people of a different sphere she had found aid, protection, and kindness; that for this reason they should be for her something more than that cousin of recent acquaintance. But she was ashamed to tell him this, and she remained silent, a little angry and a little grieved.

Meanwhile Pani Visberg invited her guests to tea. Lula ran for a while to her own chamber, and sitting on her bed covered her face with her hands. At that moment she was in Yosef's chamber mentally. "He is toiling there," thought she, "and here they speak of him as of some one strange to me. Why did that other say that he was the son of a blacksmith?"

It seemed to her as if they were wronging Yosef, but she felt offended at him, too, because he was the son of a blacksmith.

At tea she sat near her cousin, a little thoughtful, a little sad, turning unquiet glances toward Augustinovich, who from the moment of his malicious interference filled her with a certain fear.

"Indeed thou art not thyself, Lula," said Pani Visberg, placing her hand on the girl's heated forehead.

Malinka, who was standing with the teapot in her hand, pouring tea in the light, stopped the yellowish stream, and turning her head said with a smile,—

"Lula is only serious. I find thee, Lula, in black colors—art thou in love?"

The countess understood Malinka's idea, but she was not confused.

"Black is the color of mourning; in every case it is my color."

"And beautiful as thy word, cousin," added Pelski.

After tea she seated herself at the piano, and from behind the music-rack could be seen her shapely forehead marked with regular brows. She played a certain melancholy mazurka of Chopin, but trouble and disquiet did not leave her face.

Augustinovich knew music, and from her playing he divined the condition of her mind. Still he thought,—

"She is sad, therefore she plays; but she plays because her cousin is listening."

But on the way home he thought more about Lula and Yosef than one might have expected from his frivolous nature.

"Oh, Satan take it, what will happen, what will happen?" muttered he.

In the midst of these thoughts he entered his lodgings. Yosef was not sleeping yet; he was sitting leaning on his elbows over some book.

"Hast thou been at Pani Visberg's?"

"I have."

Impatience and curiosity were quivering in Yosef's face; evidently he wished to ask about the evening, but on thinking the matter over he rested his head on his hands again, and began to read.

Suddenly he threw the book aside and walked a couple of times through the room.

"Thou wert at Pani Visberg's?"

"I was."

"Ha!"

"Well, what?"

"Nothing."

He sat down to his book again.

CHAPTER XV

A couple of weeks passed. The relations of the personages known to us had not undergone change.

Yosef did not visit Pani Visberg's, but, to make up, Pelski was a daily guest there in spite of Augustinovich, who tormented him, and whom the count could not endure.

"How does the countess's cousin seem to thee?" asked Yosef of him one day.

"Oh, my friend, he is a zero."

"With what dost thou reproach him?"

"Nothing; what does stupidity mean really? He talks with the ladies as far as he is able; he wears a fashionable coat, glossy gloves; he knots his cravat symmetrically, praises virtue, condemns vice, says it is better to be wise than not; still, O Yosef, he is a zero."

"Thou judgest people in masses."

"Again! in masses. As is known to thee, I judge the breast according to the measure of the tailor, not that of Phidias; and as I advance laughter seizes me, but my heart does not burst, it must have cause sufficient to burst."

"Speak more clearly."

"What shall I say to thee? Well, he is a middling man, a man of the mean, but not the golden one; honest, for he has not done anything dishonest or perverse. But let him go! Better speak of philosophy or sing an old contradance; which dost thou prefer?"

"Let us speak of him, I beg of thee," said Yosef, with decision.

"Well, fill me a pipe then."

Yosef filled a pipe for him, lighted a cigar for himself, and began to walk through the room.

"I will not give thee an account of the evenings there, for I do not wish to annoy thee," said Augustinovich, "but if thou desire this thing, then listen.

"The affair is as follows: Pelski learned that the old count left a daughter, and curiosity led him to look at her. Seest thou, people are vain; they love effect, and the rôle of a rich cousin in presence of a poor one is not devoid of effect, so this rôle has pleased Pelski. Whom would it not please? Thou art wealthy, and givest thy hand to her (that is, to thy cousin), thou shieldest her with thy most mighty protection, astonishest her with thy delicacy of feeling, with thy acts; thou becomest her king's son—her ideal. Ei, old man, how this tickles vanity! What romances these are, Satan take me!

'O gray rye, he is digging the earth!'

It is a whole novel. A steed, a noble figure, on her part smiles and tears—they are separated by fate; later they meet, they agree, they are reconciled, and Numa marries Pompilius!"

These last words Augustinovich pronounced with a certain maliciousness.

"Art thou speaking of Lula and Pelski?" asked Yosef, gloomily.

"Yes; Pelski looked at her through curiosity, and she, as thou knowest, is a fair maiden, and that rôle pleased him. Pelski is an ordinary man, an aristocrat,—in one word, zero,—but if she pays no attention to the statue—"

"Yes, if?" interrupted Yosef, catching at the last word.

"But thou—why deceive thyself? It must be all one to thee. Thou art not a child nor a woman; thou hadst full knowledge of what thou wert doing when going to Helena with a declaration."

Yosef was silent; Augustinovich continued: "I say: Pelski is a young man and wealthy, she pleases him very much, and she may not look at the statue; she pleases him,—that is the main thing."

"Let us suppose that she will not consider the statue, what further?"

"In that case Lula will become Countess Pelski."

"Will she consent? What sayst thou?"

Yosef's eyes flashed.

"Listen, old man, I say this: I know not the good of this conversation. Perhaps she might not consent to-day, but in half a year or a year she will consent. If thou wert there thou mightest contend with him; otherwise, I repeat, she will consent."

"On what dost thou rest that judgment?"

"On what? A certain evening when I saw Pelski I was listening, and he asked, 'Of what family is Shvarts?' and she answered, 'I know not, really.' Thou seest! But when I said that thou art the son of a blacksmith, she was in flames, and almost burst into weeping from anger at me. There it is for thee!"

Yosef also felt at that moment as it were a wish to weep from anger.

"Seest thou," continued Augustinovich, "Pelski unconsciously and unwittingly acts with great success; he brings her mind to ancient titles and brilliant relations; he cannot even do otherwise. And she is an aristocrat in every case. Thou rememberest how on a time that angered me and thee, and how much thou didst labor to shatter those principles in her. By the crocodile! there is nothing haughtier than proud poverty. Pelski acts wisely, he flatters her vanity, he rouses her self-love; that removes her from us. But we, my old man, are such counts as, without comparing—Oh, Satan take it! I cannot find here comparisons."

In fact, he did not find comparisons, and for want of them he fell to puffing out strong rings of smoke, and trying diligently to catch some of them on his fingers. Meanwhile Yosef looked stubbornly at one point in the ceiling, and asked at last,—

"Didst tell her that I was going to marry Helena?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I said that thou wert toiling, and for that reason did not appear. Let the affair between thee and Pelski be decided in her mind, in her conscience and heart. Thy marriage is an external event which would decide the matter definitely on his side."

Yosef approached Augustinovich and fixed his fingers in his arm.

"Listen!" said he, violently; "but if I should win in this battle?"

"Go to the devil! and do not pinch me so hard. I throw the same question at thee: If thou shouldst win in this battle?"

They looked at each other, eye to eye; some kind of hostile feeling pressed their hearts.

At last Yosef dropped Augustinovich's arm, and hiding his face in his hands threw himself on the bed.

Augustinovich looked at him threateningly, then less threateningly, and still less threateningly; finally he pushed down to him and stroked him with his hand. He drew him by the skirt, and his voice now was soft and full of emotion.

"Old man!"

Yosef did not answer.

"My old man, be not angry. If thou win thou wilt preserve her in thy heart as a saint, and I will say to her: Go, bright angel, along the path of duty, as Yosef went."

CHAPTER XVI

Helena hardly believed her own happiness. She was preparing for her marriage. Her clouded past had vanished, life's night was over, the morning was shining.

From a woman of a wandering star, who knew not where and how low she might fall, from a woman who was a beggar, from a woman without a morrow, to enter into a new period of life, to receive the affection of a man whom she loved, to become in the future a wife, to begin a calm life, a life which had a to-morrow, surrounded by respect, filled with love and duty,—that was her future.

Helena understood, or rather had a prescience of the abnormal relation between her past and her future. "From such a life as mine that ought not to come. I am not worthy of this happiness," whispered she to Yosef, when he placed the ring of betrothal on her finger. "I am not worthy of such happiness."

That half-insane woman possessed of love was right. Out of the logic of life such a future could not bloom, but her life had ceased already to move in its own proper orbit.

There are stars which circle in solitude along undefined orbits, till swept away by more powerful planets they go farther, either around them or with them.

Something similar had happened to Helena.

A stronger will had attracted a weaker. Helena met Yosef on her track, and thenceforward she travelled in his course.

The knowledge of this made her more peaceful. "Oh, if he wishes I shall be happy," thought she, more than once.

She had unbounded belief, not only in Yosef's character, but in his strength. So the last shadow vanished from her soul; alarm disappeared, that indefinite fear of the future which she could not dismiss till the moment of Yosef's declaration, this fear which tortured her like a reproach of conscience.

Her head was full of imaginings. With a song on her lips she made preparations for marriage, amusing herself like a child with every detail of dress. Notwithstanding her widowhood she wished to wear a white dress, which would also please Yosef. Regaining cheerfulness, she regained her health also; she was busy, active, even minutely painstaking with reference to future housekeeping.

She grew more beautiful and more noble-looking under the influence of happiness. From being a misanthropic woman, a bird with plucked wings, she was changing into a woman who felt her own worth, even in this, that some one loved her.

The date of the marriage was approaching.

Meanwhile the time in which Yosef was to become a doctor was drawing near. He toiled, therefore, and toiled so intensely that his health tottered. Sleepless nights and mental effort marked his face with pallor; he grew thin, blue under the eyes; he lived in continual feverish labor, in reality he was losing his strength, but he kept on his feet as best he could, wishing at any price to win absolutely both position and an independent future.

Besides ambition and the approaching date of his marriage, one other thing urged him to those efforts: the supply of money which he had brought from home had been gradually diminishing, and at present was almost exhausted. Now the burden of expenses and housekeeping fell on Augustinovich. Augustinovich had given up drinking and earned more than Yosef. Music lessons brought him in very much relatively, and he did not need to renounce them because of the pressure of other work, for with him natural gifts took the place of time and toil, even more than was needed.

He went to Pani Visberg's daily, as before. Malinka ran out every evening to open the door to him, and every evening she snatched away her hands, which he had the habit of covering with numerous kisses. The honest girl grew attached to Pan Adam. Did he love her? Rather no than yes, for the past had quenched in him the powers of sympathy. In reality he had not fire to the value of a copper. If passion had given heat to his powers, they would have carried him far, but the light from them was like moonlight, it gave light without heat.

That, however, did not hinder him from being, as they say, a capital fellow, a perfect comrade, and a pleasant companion. If he felt any attachment, it was for Yosef. But he had his likes and dislikes; he liked Malinka, but he did not like Lula.

And why did he not like her? There were various reasons. She met him always with cool loftiness, and besides she was a countess. Usually he had success with women; he owed it to his inexhaustible joyousness, and even to his cynicism, which made him as if at home everywhere. He had, moreover, a most particular power of adapting himself to that society in which he chanced to be. Never refined, he possessed (when he wished) high social polish. He used to say of himself that in him ease of distinction was inherited, since it came "from worthy blood." He had never known his parents, it is true, nor known who they were. He had the hypothesis, even, that, according to the well-known jest, Letitia the grandmother of Napoleon III. and his grandmother were grandmothers; he proved in this way his relationship with the Buonapartes.

Notwithstanding these characteristics, Lula ignored him somewhat. Yosef's solid, simple character roused a deeper interest in her than the frivolous, elastic nature of Augustinovich. Besides, she loved Yosef. So, by the nature of things, Augustinovich remained at one side. That annoyed him. This was the state of things when Pelski appeared. Especially from the time when Yosef ceased to pay visits, Lula had changed uncommonly. Augustinovich annoyed her, for he judged things through the prism of his particular repugnance to her. He thought that then, if ever, she would show him dislike and even contempt; meanwhile it came out otherwise. Lula left her rôle of indifference and began to fear him.

"Thanks to the gods," thought Augustinovich, "a man's tongue is nimble enough, it seems. She is afraid that I shall make a fool of Pelski."

In fact, something of the kind happened a number of times,—a thing which it must be confessed touched Lula very disagreeably.

At first Lula asked, time after time, about Yosef, but received the same answer always, "He is working." At last she ceased asking. Still it seemed that she wished to win over Augustinovich. In her treatment of him there was now a certain mildness joined with a silent melancholy. Often she followed him uneasily with her eyes when he came in, as if waiting for some news.

This alarm was natural. Whether she loved Yosef or not, it could not but astonish her that he on whom she had counted so much, who had shown her so much sympathy always, had now forgotten her. She could not rest satisfied, either, with the answers of Augustinovich.

In spite of the greatest labor it was impossible that Yosef should not find in the course of more than two months one moment of time, even, to look in at her, to inquire about her health, all the more since she knew that he loved her. In this thought the coming of Pelski was connected in her mind wonderfully with the absence of Yosef. She supposed, justly, that there was a certain connection between them. Augustinovich alone could explain these things, but he did not wish to do so.

Alarmed, then irritated and troubled, attracted by Pelski to regions of brilliant dreams, and a splendid future of wealth, comfort, servants, and carriages, on the one side, on the other she rushed in mind to the modest lodgings of Yosef, inquiring anxiously why he did not come.

But he did not come. Pelski appeared every day more definitely as a rival. Lula, blaming Yosef for indifference, annoyed and humiliated by this, was willing, even through revenge, to give her hand to Pelski. Moreover, tradition attracted her in that direction. Who had the power, who ought to gain the victory, it was easy to foresee.

Pelski, in so far as he was able, strove to scatter the clouds from Lula's forehead, and frequently he succeeded in doing so. From time to time Lula had wonderful accesses of joyousness. She laughed then, and scattered more or less witty words by thousands; and though there was a kind of fever in this gladness, there was no little coquetry also. Her eyes flashed on such occasions, from her temples there was a burning atmosphere. Her lips played with an alluring smile; her words wounded and fondled, attracted and repulsed in turn. Pelski generally, and after a few unfortunate trials with Augustinovich, Pelski alone, fell a victim to these freaks. He lost his head then, and from the rôle of cousin protector he passed to that of a cousin captive.

And the more humble he became, the more insolent grew Lula; the sadder he was, the gladder was she.

"Panna Malinka," whispered Augustinovich, on such occasions, "never be like her; she is a coquette."

"She is not," answered Malinka, sadly. "I will remind you of these words."

It is difficult to say what Augustinovich would have thought after such an evening, had he seen that woman, who a moment before was coquettish, left alone in her chamber, where she sobbed so that long, long hours could not quiet her.

The poor girl, she could not even confess her suffering to any one, and the grievous battle which she was fighting all alone with herself. She wept in moments of weakness. How much wounded self-love was there in those tears, how much sincere love for Yosef, it is difficult to tell. Formerly she would have put her arms around the neck of the kind Malinka, and confessed all that oppressed her soul, but now even Malinka was a stranger to her, or at least was not so near as formerly. Just those unsuccessful attempts to coquet with Augustinovich had wounded deeply that maiden, who was in love with him; and besides the relations of Lula with Pelski seemed very odd to her.

Meanwhile time passed. Lula began to doubt whether Yosef had ever loved her. Pelski imperceptibly fed her with the thought of future comfort. Time flowed on, and Time, according to the words of the poet, "is the odious guardian of blooming roses."

CHAPTER XVII

Malinka tried frequently to learn of Augustinovich the real cause of Yosef's absence.

"Why bind her hands?" asked she, speaking of Lula.

Augustinovich assured her that he did not wish to bind Lula's hands, but afterward he was silent or lied.

On the other hand Yosef was convinced that the countess knew everything.

"I told her everything," said Augustinovich.

"But she? Do not hide from me!"

"Yosef?"

"What?"

"What is that to thee?"

Yosef gritted his teeth, but inquired no further. He was ashamed. He confessed to himself that those questions were an indulgence granted to weakness and to a former feeling. With consternation almost he saw that time had brought no relief. Oh, there were moments when he wished to cast away Helena and duty and conscience and go and sell even honor, even the remnant of self-respect, for one moment in which he could rest his head against the countess' shoulder. And he could not help meditating about her. So far he had conquered, but now he remembered that formerly he had been different from what he was then.

Formerly his character had that calm depth which concealed everything; to-day he boiled up. From passionate outbursts he passed frequently to melancholy and indifferent sentimentalism; he remembered how once he used to ridicule this in others, how he sneered without pity, how he despised even sentimentalism. Augustinovich knew this best of all.

A certain time (about a month after the breaking with Lula) Augustinovich, waking up late in the night, saw Yosef dressed yet and sitting with a book. The clock in the silent night told the fleeting moments untiringly. A lamp burnt with a clear, bright flame, and by its light the ruddy side whiskers and pale face of Yosef were outlined clearly on the black cover of the chair. He was sitting with head bent back and closed eyes, but he was not sleeping, his raised brows and the color of his face testified to this. His face had an expression of unspeakable bliss; some kind of dream, like a golden butterfly, was sitting on his brain and melting into misty mildness the sharp lines of his features.

Augustinovich looked at him carefully, then rose in the bed silently with a face full of indignation and anger. "What is he doing?" thought he. "Thou art tempting thyself! May I be hanged if I don't throw a pillow at thy head. Thou booby! Yes, I will throw the pillow! break the lamp—Hei!"

He had finished in a moment these warlike preparations, and was making ready to give the terrible blow, when he pushed under the blanket quickly; Yosef opened his eyes.

"I am curious to know what will happen now," muttered Augustinovich, pretending to sleep like a dead man. Meanwhile his astonishment grew in earnest.

Yosef looked at him suspiciously, then looked around like a criminal; finally he pulled out a drawer of the table and searched in it for some object.

"Ei! if he only does not want to shoot himself in the head, or poison himself," thought Augustinovich, terrified.

But Yosef had no thought of shooting or poisoning himself. The object which he drew forth was a glove. One small yellow wrinkled glove. Ei! a poor little memorial, a historical gift with which one says remember me. Addio! addio! caro mio! Remember me. Yosef, like that Emrod of old, would have gone for the glove "among two leopards and a tiger for it," but the question remained as to whether he went away after that and never returned. In point of stupidity the centuries agree oftener than in sound judgment.

Yosef raised the glove to his lips.

"Be ashamed, old man!" roared Augustinovich.

In truth, there was something humiliating in this, and afterward Yosef was greatly ashamed of his act. Next morning he went out before daylight to avoid Augustinovich, who was seriously angry and indignant. It seemed to him that he had been deceived in Yosef.

"That dunce," said he, "is like others." This idea roused that distaste in him which we feel usually on beginning to lose regard for a man whom we have thus far respected.

More important still was it that after that event Augustinovich grew convinced that Yosef would return to Lula. "Let the other die or go mad," said he of the widow. "They will take each other, let her die—Ei, let her die" (Augustinovich always tried to persuade himself that he did not like women), "there will be one less of them. Yosef will go back to Lula, he will."

He meditated then whether to tell Lula that Yosef was to marry, or not; in the end he resolved to be silent.

"But Helena is nothing to me. He will return to Lula; if I tell her everything it will be too late—it will be too late! Oh, ho, ho! But Helena too will lose, for again it will be too late. Yes, yes, I should not be able to correct the one, and should spoil the other. I shall say nothing, I will be silent—I will be silent."

He preferred Helena to Lula, a hundred times, and from his soul he preferred that Yosef should marry Helena; but he cared more for Yosef than for both women, therefore he wished Lula to be free "in every case." Besides, he considered that come what might, Lula would take Pelski. "Then," thought he, "I will tell the old man. 'Dost see,' I will say to him, 'I said nothing about Helena, she knew nothing about thy not loving her; still she married Pelski.'"

Finally, he concealed carefully the news of Yosef's intended marriage, in case that Lula, laughing and happy in view of Yosef's hypothetical return, should give her hand to Pelski. "Yosef will wish happiness to the lady, I will say 'Crescite et multiplicamini! He,' I shall say, pointing to Yosef, 'has been betrothed this long time; he loves and is loved immensely.'"

CHAPTER XVIII

Days passed, still Yosef did not return to the countess, but Malinka said to Augustinovich,—

"Pelski may offer himself any day to Lula."

"And if he does not, she may offer herself to him," answered Augustinovich, with emphasis.

"Oh, that is not true, not true."

"We shall see."

"No, Pan Adam. Lula has much womanly pride, and if she should marry Pelski it would be only through that same pride, through anger at Yosef's indifference. Besides, to tell the truth, Pelski is the only man who loves her, for he is the only one who has remained—on whom she can count."

"Ah! but evidently she likes to count on some one."

Malinka was angry.

"She counted once on Pan Yosef; she was deceived. How can you blame her, when he does not come—do you understand?—when he does not come?"

Pan Adam was silent.

"She has been deceived painfully," continued Malinka, "and believe me, I alone know what that costs her, and though we are not so friendly as before (she rejected me herself), I see often how she suffers. Yesterday I went to her room and found her in tears. 'Lula!' asked I, though she withdrew from me, 'what is the matter with thee?' 'Nothing, I suffer from headache,' said she. 'My Lula,' said I, 'thou hast heartache, not headache!' I wished to throw myself on her neck, but she pushed me aside, and then stood up with such haughtiness that I was frightened. 'I was crying from shame,' said she, firmly. 'Wilt thou understand, from shame!' I wished to understand her, but was unable; I only know that the evening of that day I saw her in tears again. And dost thou see?"

"What does all this prove?"

"That it is not easy for her to renounce her idea of Yosef. What has happened that he does not come?"

"But if he should come?"

"She would not marry Pelski."

"Oh, I ridicule the idea that 'she would not.'"

"Yes, for you ridicule everything. But Pan Yosef? Is it noble on his part to desert her in this way?"

"Who knows what he intends to do?"

"He ought to know himself," answered Malinka, decidedly, "and he should not conceal his intentions from her."

"He has no time, he is working."

That day, however, Malinka convinced herself that Yosef was not sitting so diligently at home as Augustinovich had represented. While walking with her mother, she met him passing with some young man. He did not notice them. Malinka was almost terrified at his appearance. He seemed to her as pale and crushed as if he had recovered from a grievous illness. "Then he has been sick," thought she, after returning home. Now she understood why Pan Adam would not explain the absence. "Yosef commanded him not to frighten Lula." All at once Yosef rose in Malinka's eyes to the loftiness of an ideal.

Augustinovich came in the evening, as usual. In the drawing-room Pani Visberg and the countess were present.

"Pan Adam," exclaimed Malinka, "I know why Pan Yosef has not been here for so long a time!"

Lula's eyes gleamed, but that moment she controlled herself; still her hands trembled imperceptibly.

"The poor man, he must have been very sick; he is as pale as if he had come out of a coffin! Why did you not tell us of this?" asked Pani Visberg, quickly.

"Oh, Pan Adam was afraid that we should speak of it before Lula. Was that nice?" asked Malinka.

"What is the matter with thee, Lula? Art sick?"

"Nothing, nothing! I will come back in a moment."

Her face was pale, breath failed her. She went out, almost fled to her chamber. Pani Visberg wished to follow her. Malinka detained her gently but decisively.

"Thou must not go, mamma."

Then she turned to Augustinovich; her voice had a sad and serious sound.

"Pan Adam?"

Augustinovich bit his lips.

"Pan Adam! What is this? 'Lula is a coquette without a heart,' is she not?"

"Perhaps I was mistaken," blurted out Augustinovich; "but—but—"

He did not dare to cough out of himself at the moment that Yosef was going to marry Helena, that he would not come any more.

On returning home he was also afraid to tell Yosef what had happened.

Lula shut herself up in her chamber. Her head was on fire, and thoughts like a garland of sparks and ice were besieging her temples, and in the silence could be heard distinctly her hurried breathing and the throbbing of her heart. Pelski, Malinka, Pan Adam whirled around her in inexplicable chaos, and out of those fragments of thought as out of a grave rose higher and higher the pale, almost lifeless head of Yosef, with closed eyes. "He is sick! he is sick!" repeated she, in a whisper. "He will die, and never come here again."

Poor Lula interpreted differently from Malinka Yosef's absence. She judged that he had sacrificed himself for her,—that, not wishing to stand between her and Pelski, he had renounced her, and therefore he suffered so much and was sick. "Still, who told him that I should be happy with Pelski?" whispered she, quietly. "He did not trust me. My God, my God! but could he trust me?"

Memory brought before her as a reproach those moments of gleaming looks, alluring smiles, and velvety words given to Pelski; she remembered also that blush of shame with which she was blazing when Pelski learned that Yosef was the son of a blacksmith. And now she hid her burning face in her hands, but that was shame of another kind. It seemed to her at that moment that if Yosef himself were a blacksmith she would kiss his blackened forehead with delight even; even with perfect happiness would she place her head on his valiant breast, though it were covered with the apron of a blacksmith.

"How dark it is in my eyes! I did not know that I loved him," said she, trembling and aflame.

Her bosom moved quickly! Again some thought the most tender decked out her forehead with the brightness of an angel; she threw herself on her knees before an image of the Virgin.

"O mother of God!" cried she, aloud, "if any one has to suffer or to die, let me suffer, but preserve and love him, O Most Holy Mother!"

Then she rose in calmness, and was so bright with the light of love that one might have said that a silver lamp was shining in that dark little chamber before the image of the Holy Virgin.

During the two following days Augustinovich did not appear; but Pelski came, and according to Malinka's previsions, proposed to Lula. Seeing his cousin's face calm, and smiling with good hope, he expressed to her his hopes and wishes. The more painful was his astonishment when Lula gave him a decisively negative answer.

"I love another," was the substance of her answer.

Pelski wanted to learn who "that other" was. Lula told him without hesitation; then, as is done usually on such occasions, she offered him her friendship.

But Pelski did not accept the hand extended to him at parting.

"You have taken too much from me, you give me too little, cousin," whispered he, in a crushed voice. "For the happiness of a lifetime—friendship!!"

But Lula felt no reproach after his departure. She was thinking of something else. This is the bad side of love, that it never thinks of anything but itself. It excludes particulars, but as a recompense includes the whole. Thou feelest that if the world were one man thou wouldst press him to thy bosom and kiss him on the head as a father.

Something like that did Lula feel when she went to Malinka's chamber after Pelski's visit. She needed to confess to some one all that lay on her heart.

Malinka was sitting near the window. In the twilight, on the darkened panes, could be seen her mild, thoughtful little face. All at once Lula's arms were clasped around her neck.

"Is that thou, Lula?" asked she, in a low voice.

"I, Malinka!" answered Lula.

She was sitting on a small stool near Malinka's feet; she put her head on her knees.

"My kind Malinka, thou art not angry with me now, and dost not despise me?"

Malinka fondled her like a child.

"I was very much to blame as thou seest, but in my own heart I have found myself to-day. How pleasant it is for me here near thee! As formerly we talked long and often—let it be so to-day! Art thou willing?"

Malinka smiled half sadly, half jestingly, and answered,—

"Let it be so to-day, but later it will change. A certain 'His grace' will come and take Lula away, and I shall be left alone."

"But will he come?" inquired Lula, in a very low whisper.

"He will come. The poor man was sick surely from yearning. I did not understand what it meant that Pan Adam would not tell me why he came not; now I understand. Pan Yosef forbade him, he would not terrify thee."

"I think that he did not wish to hinder Pelski—so unkind of him to do this."

"But what did Pelski do?"

"I was just going to tell thee. He proposed to me to-day."

"And what?"

"I refused him, Malinka."

Silence continued awhile.

"He would not even take my hand when I gave it at parting, but could I do otherwise? I know that I acted very unkindly, very unkindly, but could I act otherwise? I do not love him."

"Better late than never. Thou didst obey the voice of thy heart. Only with Pan Yosef canst thou be happy."

"Oh, that is true, true."

"In a month or so," continued Malinka, "we shall array Lula in a white robe, weep over Lula the maiden and rejoice over Lula the wife. Thou wilt be happy, he and thou. He must be a good man, since all respect him so much."

"Do all respect him so much?" repeated Lula, who wanted to laugh and cry at the same moment.

"Oh, yes, mamma fears him even, and I also fear him a little, but I respect him for his character."

Lula put both hands under her head, and resting on Malinka's knees, looked into her face with eyes bright from tears.

Meanwhile it grew perfectly dark, then the moon rose, the dogs fell asleep; nothing was to be heard save the whispers of the two maidens filled with fancies by their talk.

All at once they were interrupted by the bell at the entrance.

"Maybe that is he!" cried Lula.

But it was not "he," for in the first room was heard Augustinovich's voice,—

"Are the ladies at home?"

"Go, Lula, into that room and hide there," said Malinka, quickly. "I will tell him how thou didst give the refusal to Pelski, I will beg him to repeat it to Pan Yosef. We shall see if he does not come. Thou mayst listen there."

The door opened. Augustinovich entered.

CHAPTER XIX

We have said that Augustinovich feared to tell Yosef what had happened at Pani Visberg's. Lula had deceived his expectations; in spite of aristocracy, in spite of Pelski, she loved the young doctor, since news of his sickness had shocked her to such a degree.

Augustinovich lost his humor and the freedom of thought usual to him. Whether he would or not, he felt respect for Lula, and he felt respect for woman. Ei! that was something so strange in him, so out of harmony with his moral make up, that he could not come into agreement with himself. He had the look of a man caught in a falsehood, and the falsehood was his understanding of woman. He grew very gloomy. Once even (a wonderful thing and strange for him, or forgotten) words were forced from him that were full of painful bitterness: "Oh, if one like her could be met in a lifetime, a man would not be what he is." He avoided Yosef, he feared him, he hesitated, he wished to confess everything; then again he deferred it till the morrow.

Finally Yosef himself took note of his strange demeanor.

"What is the matter with thee, Adam?" asked he.

"But of Lula he cannot ask!" cried Augustinovich, with comical despair.

Yosef sprang to his feet.

"Of Lula? What does that mean? Speak!"

"It means nothing; what should it mean? Is all this to mean something right away?"

"Augustinovich, thou art hiding something?"

"But the fellow is thinking only of Lula!" cried Augustinovich, with increasing despair.

Yosef with unheard-of effort mastered himself, but that was a calm before a terrible storm. His sunken cheeks grew still paler, his eyes were flaming.

"Well, I will tell thee all!" cried Augustinovich, anticipating the outburst. "I will tell, I will tell! Ei, who will forbid me to tell thee that thou hast won the case! May Satan —— me if thou hast not won. She loves thee."

Yosef put his trembling hands to his perspiring face.

"But Pelski?" asked he.

"He has not proposed yet."

"Does she know everything about me?"

"Yosef!"

"Speak!"

"She knows nothing. I told her nothing."

Yosef's voice was dull and hoarse when he asked,—

"Why hast thou done me this injustice?"

"I thought that thou wouldst return to her."

Yosef twisted his hands till the fingers were cracking in their joints; Augustinovich's last words fell on him like red-hot coals. Return to her? That was to abandon Helena, and did not conscience itself defend Helena's cause? To return to Lula was to purchase the happiness of a lifetime, but to return to her was to dishonor Helena, to kill her, to become contemptible, to purchase contempt for himself. Oh, misfortune!

In Yosef's soul was taking place that devil's dance of a man with himself. Yosef was dancing with Yosef to the music of that orchestra of passion. Various thoughts, plans, methods, stormed in him; the battle raged along the whole line.

Augustinovich looked at his comrade with a face which was despairingly stupid, and he would have liked, as the saying is, to take himself by his own collar and throw himself out of doors.

All at once some decision was outlined on Yosef's face. The case was lost.

"Augustinovich!"

"What?"

"Thou wilt go this moment to Pani Visberg's and tell Lula that I am going to marry, that the ceremony will take place in a month, and that I never shall return to her, never. Dost understand?"

Augustinovich rose up and went.

Malinka received him in the way known to us. Lula was to hear their conversation from behind the door.

Malinka, full of imaginings from her recent talk with Lula, was gladsome and smiling; she pressed Pan Adam's hand cordially.

But he did not respond with a like cordiality.

"It is well that you have come," said she. "I have much to tell you, much."

"And I too have much to tell, much. I have come as an envoy."

"From Pan Yosef?"

"From Pan Yosef."

"Is he better?"

"He is sick. Has Pelski been here?"

"He has. I have wanted to talk of this."

"I am listening, Panna Malinka."

"He proposed to Lula."

"And what then?"

"She refused him. Oh, Pan Adam, she loves no man but Pan Yosef, she wants to belong to him only. My dear, honest Lula!"

Silence lasted a moment.

Pan Adam's voice quivered when he pronounced the following words deliberately,—

"She will not belong to him."

"Pan Adam!"

"Yosef, according to promise, is going to marry."

This news struck both young ladies like a thunderbolt. For a moment there was deep silence. All at once the door of the adjoining chamber opened. Lula entered the drawing-room.

On her face a blush of offended womanly dignity was playing, in her eyes pride was gleaming. It seemed to her that everything which she held sacred in her heart had been trampled.

"Malinka," cried she, "ask no more, I implore thee! Enough, enough! This gentleman has delivered his message. Why lower one's self by an answer?"

And taking Malinka by the hand, she led her out of the chamber almost with violence.

Augustinovich followed them awhile with his eyes, then nodded a couple of times.

"By the prophet!" said he, "I understand her. She is right, but so is Yosef. Hei! I must fly before everything breaks."

In a moment he ran to Pelski, told him the whole story.

"Some fatality weighed on them," concluded Augustinovich. "Yosef could not act otherwise, could he?"

"He acted as was fitting, but what inclined you to tell me of this?"

"A bagatelle. One question: Did not Lula act nobly in rejecting your hand?"

"I will leave the answer to myself."

"Leave it, my dear sir! The answer is all one to me, Lula is nothing to me; I know only that if my friend withdraws her future will not be enviable, and you are her cousin—The case is too bad."

Pelski thought awhile.

"Too bad? Ha, what is too bad?"

"That your proposal did not come a little later."

Pelski walked with quick step through the room.

"Now, never!" whispered he to himself.

Augustinovich heard this monologue.

"Too late, too late; but—but—now one small request. Tell no one that I was here, especially do not tell Pani Visberg or my friend if ever you see them."

"What is this to your friend?"

"Everything; but you would not understand it, dear count—Till our next meeting!"

Pelski, left alone, meditated long as to how that could really concern Augustinovich. He did not think out any answer, but came to the conviction that it might concern his own self somewhat.

"I might return to her, feigning ignorance of what has happened," said he. "Poor Lula!"