Pan Michael

itself they had not spoken yet; time passed for them as a dream, and a serene sky was above them. Clouds of reproaches were soon to hide it from Krysia; but the present was a time of repose. Specially through intimacy with Ketling, through becoming accustomed to him, through that friendship which with love bloomed up between them, Krysia’s alarms were ended, her impressions were not so violent, the conflicts of her blood and imagination ceased. They were near each other; it was pleasant for them in the company of each other; and Krysia, yielding herself with her whole soul to that agreeable present, was unwilling to think that it would ever end, and that to scatter those illusions it needed only one word14 from Ketling, “I love.” That word was soon uttered. Once, when Pan Michael’s sister and Basia were at the house of a sick relative, Ketling persuaded Krysia and Pan Zagloba to visit the king’s castle, which Krysia had not seen hitherto, and concerning whose curiosities wonders were related throughout the whole country. They went, then, three in company. Ketling’s liberality had opened all doors, and Krysia was greeted by obeisances from the doorkeepers as profound as if she were a queen entering her own residence. Ketling, knowing the castle perfectly, conducted her through lordly halls and chambers. They examined the theatre, the royal baths; they halted before pictures representing the battles and victories gained by Sigismund and Vladislav over the savagery of the East; they went out on the terraces, from which the eye took in an immense stretch of country. Krysia could not free herself from wonder; he explained everything to her, but was silent from moment to moment, and looking into her dark-blue eyes, he seemed to say with his glance, “What are all these wonders in comparison with thee, thou wonder? What are all these treasures in comparison with thee, thou treasure?” The young lady understood that silent speech. He conducted her to one of the royal chambers, and stood before a door concealed in the wall.

“One may go to the cathedral through this door. There is a long corridor, which ends with a balcony not far from the high altar. From this balcony the king and queen hear Mass usually.”

“I know that way well,” put in Zagloba, “for I was a confidant of Yan Kazimir. Marya Ludovika loved me passionately; therefore both invited me often to Mass, so that they might take pleasure in my company and edify themselves with piety.”

“Do you wish to enter?” asked Ketling, giving a sign to the doorkeeper.

“Let us go in,” said Krysia.

“Go alone,” said Zagloba; “you are young and have good feet; I have trotted around enough already. Go on, go on; I will stay here with the doorkeeper. And even if you should say a couple of ‘Our Fathers,’ I shall not be angry at the delay, for during that time I can rest myself.”

They entered. Ketling took Krysia’s hand and led her through a long corridor. He did not press her hand to his heart; he walked calmly and collectedly. At intervals the side windows threw light on their forms, then they sank again in the darkness. Her heart beat somewhat, because they were alone for the first time; but his calmness and mildness made her calm also. They came out at last to the balcony on the right side of the church, not far from the high altar. They knelt and began to pray. The church was silent and empty. Two candles were burning before the high altar, but all the deeper part of the nave was buried in impressive twilight. Only from the rainbow-colored panes of the windows various gleams entered and fell on the two wonderful faces, sunk in prayer, calm, like the faces of cherubim.

Ketling rose first and began to whisper, for he dared not raise his voice in the church, “Look,” said he, “at this velvet-covered railing; on it are traces where the heads of the royal couple rested. The queen sat at that side, nearer the altar. Rest in her place.”

“Is it true that she was unhappy all her life?” whispered Krysia, sitting down. “I heard her history when I was still a child, for it is related in all knightly castles. Perhaps she was unhappy because she could not marry him whom her heart loved.”

Krysia rested her head on the place where the depression was made by the head of Marya Ludovika, and closed her eyes. A kind of painful feeling straitened her breast; a certain coldness was blown suddenly from the empty nave and chilled that calm which a moment before filled her whole being.

Ketling looked at Krysia in silence; and a stillness really churchlike set in. Then he sank slowly to her feet, and began to speak thus with a voice that was full of emotion, but calm:⁠—

“It is not a sin to kneel before you in this holy place; for where does true love come for a blessing if not to the church? I love you more than life; I love you beyond every earthly good; I love you with my soul, with my heart; and here before this altar I confess that love to you.”

Krysia’s face grew pale as linen. Resting her head on the velvet back of the prayer-stool, the unhappy lady stirred not, but he spoke on:⁠—

“I embrace your feet and implore your decision. Am I to go from this place in heavenly delight, or in grief which I am unable to bear, and which I can in no way survive?”

He waited awhile for an answer; but since it did not come, he bowed his head till he almost touched Krysia’s feet, and evident emotion mastered him more and more, for his voice trembled, as if breath were failing his breast⁠—

“Into your hands I give my happiness and life. I expect mercy, for my burden is great.”

“Let us pray for God’s mercy!” exclaimed Krysia, suddenly, dropping on her