Yagna, bursting into tears, fled out of the room … and Yanek stood thunderstruck.
XII
On a sudden he made a start to rush after her.
“Whither?” his mother asked grimly, blocking the way.
“Why—why have ye turned her out? Because she was so kind to me? It is unjust—unjust—and I will not have it.—What wrong thing has she done, say?” he cried, struggling violently in his mother’s powerful grasp.
“Sit down quietly, or I’ll call Father. … What has she done, hey?—I’ll tell you at once. You are to be a priest: I will not see you taking a mistress under my very roof, nor load yourself with such shame and disgrace that folk will point their fingers at you as you go by! That’s why I expelled her. And now you know!”
“Lord Almighty!—What is this you say?” he cried indignantly.
“What I know well.—I was aware that you had meetings with her; but, as God is my witness, I never suspected you of any wickedness! For I thought that if my son wore a priest’s habit, he would not drag it in the mud—not make me curse him forever—not force me to tear him out of my heart, and break my heart in the tearing!” As she spoke, her eyes flamed with such holy indignation that Yanek was petrified with amazement. “Kozlova,” she went on to say, “was the first to open mine eyes; and now I myself have seen how this drab was trying to inveigle you!”
He burst into a flood of tears, and brokenly—between fits of sobbing and complaints of her monstrous suspicions—told her so frankly all about their meetings that her trust in him was completely restored. She pressed him to her heart, and wiped his tears, and soothed him.
“Now do not marvel if I feared for you. Why, she is the worst trull in the whole village!”
“Yagna … the worst … !” He could not believe his ears.
“It shames me to speak of such things; but for your good I must.” She thereupon poured forth all the scandalous tales in circulation against Yagna, sparing him none of them.
Yanek shook with horror, and started up at last, crying:
“This cannot be; I will never believe her so vile.”
“Take heed; ’tis your mother who speaks; these are no lying inventions of hers.”
“But they must be lies! Were they true, it would be too horrible.” And he wrung his hands in despair.
“What makes you defend her so stoutly? Answer me that!”
“I must defend anyone—anyone that’s innocent.”
“You’re an arrant fool!” She was losing her temper; his disbelief pained her deeply.
“If ye think me so—well.—But supposing Yagna so wicked, how could ye let her come to our house?” he asked, flushing as red as an angry young turkey-cock.
“I have not to justify my doings to you, a simpleton who could not understand me. But this I say to you: keep away from her! For if I meet you with her, I will—aye, even before the whole village, I will—give her a drubbing she will not get over for a month!—And you too may get a taste of the same!”
With these words she went out, slamming the door.
Yanek, not suspecting at all why Yagna’s good name was so very dear to him, remained thinking over his mother’s words, and chewing the cud of his bitter reflections till his soul was sickened with the nauseous taste.
“She that kind of woman? She, Yagna?” he groaned, with such stern abhorrence that, had she then appeared before him, he would have turned from her with angry loathing. Why, the very thought of such things had never come to his mind! And now he was forced to ponder them, with ever-increasing anguish! Many a time he was on the point of running out to throw all those many sins and wicked deeds in her teeth. “Let her know what folk say, and clear herself, if she can. Let her declare that they are all falsehoods!” He went on musing feverishly, now more and more inclined to think that she was perhaps not in fault. … Sorrow for her took hold of him; and then there was a secret longing for her in his mind … and the memories of their past meetings came back, not without a certain sense of sweetness. … Then his eyes grew dim with a bright haze of vague delight; and, with a mysterious pang at his heart, he sprang up, crying out, as to the whole world:
“ ’Tis untrue—untrue—untrue!”
At supper, he did not raise his eyes from his plate, shunned his mother’s glances, and sat speechless, though they were talking of Agata’s death. Gloomy, fastidious in his eating, tiresome to his sisters, querulous about the heat in the house, he got up as soon as the meal was done, and went over to the priest’s. His Reverence, sitting pipe in mouth in the porch, was busy talking of various affairs with Ambrose. He kept away from them and walked about under the trees, in company with his painful thoughts.
“And yet, it may be true! Mother could never have invented that!”
From the windows of the house, long streaks of light played upon the lawn and flowerbeds, where the dogs frolicked and snarled in fun. Gruff voices came to him from the porch:
“Have you seen the barley at ‘Swine’s Hollow?’ ”
“The stalks are still somewhat green; the grains are dry as pepper.”
“You must air the vestments, they are getting quite ruined with mould.—And take my surplus and the albs to Dominikova’s for Yagna to wash.—Who was it brought his cow here this afternoon?”
“Someone from Modlitsa. The miller met him on the bridge and vaunted his bull, and even offered the use of the beast gratis; but the man preferred ours.”
“He was right. One rouble will give him a lifelong profit … and a first-rate breed of cows.—Know
