Whirlpools: A Novel of Modern Poland Part 27

"Even the doctor considers me well," he said. "The best proof of it is that he permits me to go about the city in three days."

"I heard something about five," answered Gronski.

"But that was yesterday; so, not counting to-day, three remain. You have your habits which you must not change on my account. It is indeed a pleasure to look at all these things; so I will come here, but it is one thing to visit you for an hour, or even two, and another to introduce confusion into your mode of life."

"I will only say this," answered Gronski, "Pani Otocka and Panna Marynia regard me as an old bachelor and promised to make a call to-morrow, or the day after, as they have often done before, in the company of Miss Anney. Do you see that armchair? On it, during the music-playing, sat your light-haired beauty. Go, go to the hotel, and we will see who, besides your mother, will visit you."

"You are too good."

"I am an old egotist. You see that I have a few old household effects, which, during the course of my life, I have collected; but one thing, though I were as rich as Morgan and Jay Gould combined, I can unfortunately never buy, and that is youth. And you have so much of it that you could establish a bank and issue stock. From you rays plainly emanate. Let them illuminate and warm me a little. In other words, do not worry, and keep quiet if you are comfortable here with me."

"I only do not desire to be spoiled by too much attention, for, speaking sincerely, I feel I am strong enough now."

"So much the better. Thank G.o.d, Miss Anney, and the doctor that the journey did not injure you. That is what I feared a little."

"It did not hurt me, neither did it help."

"How is that?"

"Because I had a hope that on the road I could tell my bright queen that which I hid in my soul, but in the meantime it developed that this was a foolish hope. We sat in the compartment like herrings. The doctor hung over me continually, like a hangman over a good soul, and there was not a chance, even for a moment."

"Never, never make any avowals in a railway car, for in the rumble and noise the most pathetic pa.s.sages are lost. Finally, as Laskowicz has not dispatched you to the other world, you will easily find an opportunity."

"Do you really think that it was the work of Laskowicz?"

"No. But if ever I should ascertain that it was he, I would not be much surprised; for such a situation, in which one could gratify self and serve a good cause, occurs rarely."

"How gratify self and serve a good cause?"

"Good in his judgment. Do you not live from human sweat and blood?"

"That is very true. But why should my death afford him any gratification personally?"

"Because he has conceived a hatred for you; has fallen in love with some one and regards you as a rival."

Hearing this, Ladislaus jumped up as if scalded.

"What, would he dare?"

"I a.s.sure you that he would dare," replied Gronski quietly, "only he made a mistake. But that he is not wanting in courage he gave proofs when he wrote an avowal of love to Marynia."

Ladislaus opened wide his eyes and began to wink:

"What was that?"

"I did not want to speak to you about it in Jastrzeb, as at that time you often drove to the city. I feared that you might meet him and might start a disagreeable brawl. But at present I can tell you every thing; Laskowicz has fallen in love with Marynia and wrote a letter to her, which of course remained unanswered."

"And he thought that I also am in love with Marynia."

"Permit me; that would not be anything extraordinary. He might have overheard something. Whoever is in love usually imagines that every one is reaching after the object of his love. Understand that Laskowicz did not confide in me, but that is my hypothesis which, if it is erroneous, so much the better for Laskowicz. The party sent you a death sentence in consequence of his reports and this was working in his hand for personal reasons. After all, he may not have partic.i.p.ated personally in the attempt--"

"Did you see him after that letter?"

"How could I see him, since he wrote after his departure. But it was lucky that I advised Pani Otocka to burn that lucubration, for if the letter had been found during the search at Jastrzeb, you can readily understand what inferences the acuteness of the police might have drawn."

Anger glittered in Ladislaus' eyes.

"I prefer that Miss Anney be not involved," he said; "nevertheless I would not advise Laskowicz to meet me. That such a baboon, as Dolhanski says, should dare to lift his eyes to our female relative in our home and, in addition thereto, write to her--this I regard plainly as an insult which I cannot forgive."

"In all probability you will never meet him; so you will not move a finger."

"I? Then you do not know me. Why not?"

"Among other reasons, out of consideration for our pleasant situation.

Consider; duels they will not accept and in this they are right. What then? Will you cudgel him with a cane or pull his ears?"

"That is quite possible."

"Wait! In the first place there was nothing in the letter resembling an insult and, again, what further? The police would take you both into custody, and there they would discover that they had caught Laskowicz, a revolutionary bird, whom they have been seeking for a long time and would send him to Siberia, or even hang him. Can you take anything like that upon your conscience?"

"May the deuce take these times," cried Ladislaus. "A man is always in a situation from which there is no escape."

"As is usual between two anarchies," answered Gronski. "After all, this is a slight ill.u.s.tration."

Further conversation was stopped by the entrance of a servant who handed to Gronski a visiting card and he, glancing at it, said:

"Ask him to step in."

Afterwards he asked Ladislaus:

"Do you know Swidwicki?"

"I have heard the name, but am not acquainted with the man."

"He is a relative of Pani Otocka's deceased husband. A very peculiar figure."

At that moment Swidwicki entered the room. He was a man of forty years, bald, tall, lean, with an intelligent and sour face, and at the same time impudent. He was attired carelessly in a suit which appeared to fit him too loosely. He had, however, something which betrayed his connection with the higher social spheres.

"How is Swidwa?" Gronski began.

After which he introduced him to Ladislaus and continued:

"What has happened to you? I have not seen you for an age."

"Why, you were out of the city."

"Yes; but before that time you did not show up for a month."

"In my old age I have become an anchorite."