Children of the Soil. Henryk Sienkiewicz
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magazine to take something.”
Here Panna Marynia was alarmed somewhat at that special daring with which she had allowed herself this philosophical deduction as to the difference between memory and recollection; therefore she blushed rather deeply.
“Not stupid, and pretty,” thought Pan Stanislav; aloud he said, “That would not have come to my head, and it is so appropriate.”
He surveyed her with eyes full of sympathy. She was in fact very pretty; for she was laughing, somewhat confused by the praise, and also delighted sincerely with it. She blushed still more when the daring young man said,—
“To-morrow, before parting, I shall beg for a place,—even in the magazine.”
But he said this with such joyousness that it was impossible to be angry with him; and Marynia answered, not without a certain coquetry,—
“Very well; and I ask reciprocity.”
“In such case, I should have to go so often to the magazine that I might prefer straightway to live in it.”
This seemed to Marynia somewhat too bold on such short acquaintance; but Plavitski broke in now and said,—
“This Stanislav pleases me. I prefer him to Gantos, who sits like a misanthrope.”
“Because I can talk only of what may be taken in hand,” answered the young man, with a certain sadness.
“Then take your fork, and eat.”
Pan Stanislav laughed. Marynia did not laugh: she was sorry for Gantovski; therefore she turned the conversation to things which were tangible.
“She is either a coquette, or has a good heart,” thought Pan Stanislav again.
But Pan Plavitski, who recalled evidently his last winter visit in Warsaw, continued, “Tell me, Stas, dost thou know Bukatski?”
“Of course. By the way, he is a nearer relative to me than to uncle.”
“We are related to the whole world,—to the whole world literally. Bukatski was Marynia’s most devoted dancer. He danced with her at all the parties.”
Pan Stanislav began to laugh again; “And for all his reward he went to the magazine, to the dust-bin. But at least it is not necessary to dust him, for he is as careful of his person as uncle, for instance. He is the greatest dandy in Warsaw. What does he do? He is manager of fresh air, which means that when there is fair weather he walks out or rides. Besides, he is an original, who has peculiar little closets in his brain. He observes various things of such kind as no other would notice. Once, after his return from Venice, I met him and asked what he had seen there. ‘I saw,’ said he, ‘while on the Riva dei Schiavoni, half an egg-shell and half a lemon-rind floating: they met, they struck, they were driven apart, they came together; at last, paf! the half lemon fell into the half egg-shell, and away they went sailing together. In this see the meaning of harmony.’ Such is Bukatski’s occupation, though he knows much, and in art, for instance, he is an authority.”
“But they say that he is very capable.”
“Perhaps he is, but capable of nothing. He eats bread, and that is the end of his service. If at least he were joyous, but at bottom he is melancholy. I forgot to say that besides he is in love with Pani Emilia.”
“Does Emilia receive many people?” inquired Marynia.
“No. Vaskovski, Bukatski, and Mashko, an advocate, the man who buys and sells estates, are her only visitors.
“Of course she cannot receive many people; she has to give much time to Litka.”
“Dear little girl,” said Pan Stanislav, “may God grant at least that Reichenhall may help her.”
And his joyous countenance was covered in one moment with genuine sadness. Marynia looked at him with eyes full of sympathy, and in her turn thought a second time, “Still he must be kind really.”
But Plavitski began to talk as if to himself. “Mashko, Mashko—he too was circling about Marynia. But she did not like him. As to estates, the price now is such that God pity us.”
“Mashko is the man who declares that under such conditions it is well to buy them.”
Dinner came to an end, and they passed into the drawing-room for coffee; while at coffee Pan Plavitski, as his wont was in moments of good-humor, began to make a butt of Gantovski. The young man endured patiently, out of regard for Marynia, but with a mien that seemed to say, “Ei! but for her, I would shake all the bones out of thee.” After coffee Marynia sat down at the piano, while her father was occupied with patience. She played not particularly well, but her clear and calm face was outlined pleasantly over the music-board. About five Pan Plavitski looked at the clock and said,—
“The Yamishes are not coming.”
“They will come yet,” answered Marynia.
But from that moment on he looked continually at the clock, and announced every moment that the Yamishes would not come. At last, about six, he said with a sepulchral voice,—
“Some misfortune must have happened.”
Pan Stanislav at that moment was near Marynia, who in an undertone said,—
“Here is a trouble! Nothing has happened, of course; but papa will be in bad humor till supper.”
At first Pan Stanislav wished to answer that to make up he would be in good-humor to-morrow after sleeping; but, seeing genuine anxiety on the young lady’s face, he answered,—
“As I remember, it is not very far; send some one to inquire what has happened.”
“Why not send some one over there, papa?”
But he answered with vexation, “Too much kindness; I will go myself;” and ringing for a servant, he ordered the horses, then stopping for a moment he said,—
“Enfin, anything may happen in the country; some person might come and find my daughter alone. This is not a city. Besides, you are relatives. Thou, Gantovski, may be necessary for me, so have the kindness to come with me.”
An expression of the greatest unwillingness and dissatisfaction was evident on the young man’s face. He stretched his hand to his yellow hair and said,—
“Drawn up at the pond is a boat, which the gardener could not launch. I promised Panna Marynia to launch it; but last Sunday she would not let me, for rain was pouring, as if from a bucket.”
“Then run and try. It is thirty yards to the pond; thou wilt be back in two minutes.”
Gantovski went to the garden in spite of himself. Plavitski, without noticing his daughter or Pan Stanislav, repeated as he walked through the room,—
“Neuralgia in the head; I would bet that it is neuralgia in the head; Gantovski in case of need could gallop for the doctor. That old mope, that councillor without a council, would not send for him surely.” And needing evidently to pour out his ill humor on some one, he added, turning to Pan Stanislav, “Thou’lt not believe what a booby that man is.”
“Who?”
“Yamish.”
“But, papa!” interrupted Marynia.
Plavitski did not let her finish, however, and said with increasing ill humor, “It does not please thee, I know, that she shows me a little friendship and attention. Read Pan Yamish’s articles on agriculture, do him homage, raise statues to him; but let me have my sympathies.”
Here Pan Stanislav might admire the real sweetness of Marynia, who, instead of being impatient, ran to her father, and putting her forehead under his blackened mustaches, said,—
“They will bring the horses right away, right away, right away! Maybe I ought to go; but let ugly father not be angry, for