“I believe it. From weeping for a certain maiden in my youth one of my eyes flowed out, and what of it did not flow out was covered with a cataract.”
“Do not wonder; I came here, the breath barely in my body; the first word I hear—the cloister. But still I have trust in persuasion and in her heart and her word. How did you state it? ‘A habit is good’—but made of what?”
“But not when made of injustice to others.”
“Splendidly said! How is it that I have never been able to make maxims? In the stanitsa it would have been a ready amusement. Alarm sits in me continually, but you have given me consolation. I agreed with her, it is true, that the affair should remain a secret; therefore it is likely that the maiden might speak of the habit only for appearance’ sake. You brought forward another splendid argument, but I cannot remember it. You have given me great consolation.”
“Then come to me, or give command to bring the decanter to this place. It is good after the journey.”
They went, and sat drinking till late at night.
Next day Pan Michael arrayed his body in fine garments and his face in seriousness, armed himself with all the arguments which came to his own head, and with those which Zagloba had given him; thus equipped, he went to the dining-room, where all met usually at mealtime. Of the whole company only Krysia was absent, but she did not let people wait for her long; barely had the little knight swallowed two spoonfuls of soup when through the open door the rustle of a robe was heard, and the maiden came in.
She entered very quickly, rather rushed in. Her cheeks were burning; her lids were dropped; in her face were mingled fear and constraint. Approaching Pan Michael, she gave him both hands, but did not raise her eyes at all, and when he began to kiss those hands with eagerness, she grew very pale; besides, she did not find one word for greeting. But his heart filled with love, alarm, and rapture at sight of her face, delicate and changeful as a wonder-working image, at sight of that form shapely and beautiful, from which the warmth of recent sleep was still beating; he was moved even by that confusion and that fear depicted in her face.
“Dearest flower!” thought he, in his soul, “why do you fear? I would give even my life and blood for you.” But he did not say this aloud, he only pressed his pointed mustaches so long to her hands that red traces were left on them. Basia, looking at all this, gathered over her forehead her yellow forelock of purpose, so that no one might notice her emotion; but no one gave attention to her at that time; all were looking at the pair, and a vexatious silence followed.
Pan Michael interrupted it first. “The night passed for me in grief and disquiet,” said he; “for yesterday I saw all except you, and such terrible tidings were told of you that I was nearer to weeping than to sleep.”
Krysia, hearing such outspoken words, grew still paler, so that for a while Pan Michael thought that she would faint, and said hurriedly, “We must talk of this matter; but now I will ask no more, so that you may grow calm and recover. I am no barbarian, nor am I a wolf, and God sees that I have goodwill toward you.”
“Thank you!” whispered Krysia.
Zagloba, Pan Makovetski, and his wife began to exchange glances, as if urging one another to begin the usual conversation; but for a long time no one was able to venture a word; at last Zagloba began. “We must go to the city today,” said he, turning to the newly arrived. “It is boiling there before the election, as in a pot, for every man is urging his own candidate. On the road, I will tell you to whom, in my opinion, we should give our votes.”
No one answered, therefore Zagloba cast around an owlish eye; at last he turned to Basia, “Well, Maybug, will you go with us?”
“I will go even to Russia!” answered Basia, abruptly.
And silence followed again. The whole meal passed in similar attempts to begin a conversation that would not begin. At last the company rose. Then Pan Michael approached Krysia at once and said—
“I must speak with you alone.”
He gave her his arm and conducted her to the adjoining room, to that same apartment which was the witness of their first kiss. Seating Krysia on the sofa, he took his place near her, and began to stroke her hair as he would have stroked the hair of a child.
“Krysia!” said he, at last, with a mild voice. “Has your confusion passed? Can you answer me calmly and with presence of mind?”
Her confusion had passed, and besides, she was moved by his kindness; therefore she raised for a moment her eyes on him for the first time since his return. “I can,” said she, in a low voice.
“Is it true that you have devoted yourself to the cloister?”
Krysia put her hands together and began to whisper imploringly, “Do not take this ill of me, do not curse me; but it is true.”
“Krysia!” said the knight, “is it right to trample on the happiness of people, as you are trampling? Where is your word, where is our agreement? I cannot war with God, but I will tell you, to begin with, what Pan Zagloba told me yesterday—that the habit should not be made of injustice to others. You will not increase the glory of God by injustice to me. God reigns over the whole world; His are all nations, His the lands and the sea and the rivers, the
