"I have never run after wealth," said Plavitski; "but if Providence in
its inscrutable decrees has directed that even a part of that great
fortune should come to our hands, I shall not cross its path. Of this
not much will come to me. Soon I shall need four planks and the silent
tear of my child, for whom I have lived; but here it is a question of
Marynia."
"I would turn your attention to this," said Mashko, coldly,--"that,
first of all, those expectations are very uncertain."
"But is it right not to take them into consideration?"
"Secondly, that Panna Ploshovski is living yet."
"But sawdust is dropping out of the old woman. She is as shrivelled as
a mushroom!"
"Thirdly, she may leave her property for public purposes."
"But is it not possible to dispute such a will?"
"Fourthly, your relationship is immensely distant. In the same way all
people in Poland are related to one another."
"She has no nearer relatives."
"But Polanyetski is your relative."
"No. God knows he is not! He is a relative of my first wife, not mine."
"And Bukatski?"
"Give me peace! Bukatski is a cousin of my brother-in-law's wife."
"Have you no other relatives?"
"The Gantovskis claim us, as you know. People say that which flatters
them. But there is no need of reckoning with the Gantovskis."
Mashko presented difficulties purposely, so as to show afterward a
small margin of hope, therefore he said,--
"With us people are very greedy for inheritances; and let any
inheritance be in sight, they fly together from all sides, as sparrows
fly to wheat. Everything in such cases depends on this: who claims
first, what he claims, and finally through whom he claims. Remember
that an energetic man, acquainted with affairs, may make something
out of nothing; while, on the other hand, a man without energy or
acquaintance with business, even if he has a good basis of action, may
effect nothing."
"I know this from experience. All my life I have had business up to
this." Here Plavitski drew his hand across his throat.
"Besides, you may become the plaything of advocates," added Mashko,
"and be exploited without limit."
"In such a case I could count on your personal friendship for us."
"And you would not be deceived," answered Mashko, with importance.
"Both for you and Panna Marynia I have friendship as profound as if you
belonged to my family."
"I thank you in the name of the orphan," answered Plavitski; and
emotion did not let him speak further.
Mashko put on dignity, and said, "But if you wish me to defend your
rights, both in this matter, which, as I said, may prove illusive, and
in other matters, then give me those rights." Here the young advocate
seized Plavitski's hand,--
"Respected sir," continued he, "you will divine that of which I wish to
speak; therefore hear me to the end patiently."
He lowered his voice; and although there was no one in the room, he
began to speak almost in a whisper. He spoke with force, with dignity,
and at the same time with great self-command, as befitted a man who
never forgot who he was nor what he offered. Plavitski closed his eyes
at moments; at moments he pressed Mashko's hand; finally, at the end of
the conference, he said,--
"Come to the drawing-room; I will send in Marynia. I know not what she
will say to you; in every case, let that come which God wills. I have
at all times known your value; now I esteem you still more--and here!"
The arms of Plavitski opened wide, and Mashko bent toward them,
repeating, not without emotion, but always with lofty dignity,--
"I thank, I thank--"
After a while he found himself in the drawing-room.
Marynia appeared with a face which had grown very pale; but she was
calm. Mashko pushed a chair toward her, seated himself in another, and
began,--
"I am here by the approval of your father. My words can tell you
nothing beyond what my silence has told already, and which you have
divined. But since the moment has come in which I should mention
my feelings explicitly, I do this then with all confidence in your
heart and character. I am a man who loves you, on whom you may lean;
therefore I put in your hands my life, and I beg you from the bottom of
my heart to consent to go with me."
Marynia was silent for a moment, as if seeking words, then she said,--
"I ought to answer you clearly and sincerely. This confession is for me
very difficult; but I do not wish such a man as you to deceive himself.
I have not loved you; I do not love you, and I will not be your wife,
even should it come to me never to be any one's."
Then a still more prolonged silence followed. The spots on Mashko's
face assumed a deeper hue, and his eyes cast cold steel gleams.
"This answer," said he, "is as decided as it is painful to me and
unexpected. But will you not give yourself a few days to consider,
instead of rejecting me decisively at this moment?"
"You have said that I divined your feelings; I had time then to make
my decision, and the answer which I gave you, I give after thorough
reflection."
Mashko's voice became dry and sharp now,--
"Do you think that by virtue of your bearing with me, I had not the
right to make such a proposal?"
And he was sure in that moment that Marynia would answer that he
understood her bearing incorrectly, that there was nothing in it
authorizing him to entertain any hope,--in one word, that she would
seek the crooked road taken usually by coquettes who are forced to
redeem their coquetry by lying; but she raised her eyes to him and
said,--
"My conduct with you has not been at times what it should have been; I
confess my fault, and with my whole soul I beg pardon for it."
Mashko was silent. A woman who evades rouses contempt; a woman who
recognizes her fault dashes the weapon from the hand of every opponent
in whose nature, or even in whose education, there lies the least spark
of knightly feeling. Besides this, there is one final method of moving
the heart of a woman in such a ease, and that is to overlook her fault
magnanimously. Mashko, though he saw before him a precipice, understood
this, and determined to lay everything on this last card. Every nerve
in him quivered from anger and offended self-love; but he mastered
himself, took his hat, and, approaching Marynia, raised her hand to his
lips.
"I knew that you loved Kremen," said he; "and I bought it for one
purpose only, to lay it at your feet. I see that I went by a mistaken
road, and I withdraw, though I do so with endless sorrow; I beg you to
remember that. Fault on your part there has not been, and is not. Your
peace is dearer to me than my own happiness; I beg you, therefore, as
an only favor, not to reproach yourself. And now farewell."
And he went out.
She sat there motionless a long time, with a pale face and a feeling
of oppression in her soul. She had not expected to find in him so many
noble feelings. Besides, the following thought came to her head, "That
one took Kremen from me to save his own; this one bought it to return
it to me." And never before had Pan Stanislav been so ruined in her
thoughts. At that moment she did not remember that Mashko had bought
Kremen, not from Pan Stanislav, but from her father; second, that he
had bought it profitably; third, that though he wished to return it,
he intended to take it again with her hand, thus freeing himself from
the payments which weighed on him; and finally, to take the matter as
it was in reality, neither Pan Stanislav nor any one else had taken
Kremen from her,--Plavitski had sold it because he was willing and
found a purchaser. But at that moment she looked on the matter in woman
fashion, and compared Mashko with Pan Stanislav, exalting the former
beyond measure, and condemning the latter beyond his deserts. Mashko's
action touched her so much that if she had not felt for him simply a
repulsion, she would have called him back. For a while it seemed to her
even that she ought to do so, but strength failed her.
She did not know either that Mashko went down the stairs with rage and
despair in his soul; in fact, a precipice had opened before him. All
his calculations had deceived him: the woman whom he loved really did
not want him, and rejected him; and though she had striven to spare him
in words, he felt humbled as never before. Whatever he had undertaken
in life hitherto, he had carried through always with a feeling of his
own power and reason, with an unshaken certainty of success. Marynia's
refusal had taken that certainty from him. For the first time he
doubted himself; for the first time he had a feeling that his star was
beginning to pale, and that perhaps an epoch of defeats was beginning
for him on all fields on which he had acted hitherto. That epoch had
begun even. Mashko had bought Kremen on conditions exceptionally
profitable, but it was too large an estate for his means. If Marynia
had not rejected him, he would have been able to manage; he would not
have needed to think of the life annuity for Plavitski, or the sum
which, according to agreement, came to Marynia for Magyerovka. At
present he had to pay Marynia, Pan Stanislav, and the debts on Kremen,
which must be paid as soon as possible, for, by reason of usurious
interest, they were increasing day by day, and threatening utter ruin.
For all this he had only credit, hitherto unshaken, it is true, but
strained like a chord; Mashko felt that, if that chord should ever
snap, he would be ruined beyond remedy.
Hence at moments, besides sorrow for Marynia, besides the pain which a
man feels after the loss of happiness, anger measureless, almost mad,
bore him away, and also an unbridled desire for revenge. Therefore,
when he was entering his residence, he muttered through his set teeth,--
"If thou do not become my wife, I'll not forgive thee for what thou
hast done to me; if thou become my wife, I'll not forgive thee either."
Meanwhile Plavitski entered the room in which Marynia was sitting, and
said,--
"Thou hast refused him, or he would have come to me before going."
"I have, papa."
"Without hope for the future?"
"Without hope. I respect him as no one in the world, but I gave him no
hope."
"What did he answer?"
"Everything that such a high-minded person could answer."
"A new misfortune. Who knows if thou hast not deprived me of a morsel
of bread in my old age? But I knew that no thought of this would come
to thee."
"I could not act otherwise; I could not."
"I have no wish to force thee; and I go to offer my sufferings there
where every tear of an old man is counted."
And he went to Lour's to look at men playing billiards. He would have
consented to Mashko; but at the root of the matter he did not count him
a very brilliant match, and, thinking that Marynia might do better, he
did not trouble himself too much over what had happened.
Half an hour later Marynia ran in to Pani Emilia's.
"One weight at least has fallen from my heart," began she. "I refused
Pan Mashko to-day decisively. I am sorry for him; he acted with me as
nobly and delicately as only such a man could act; and if I had for him
even a small spark of feeling, I would return to him to-day."
Here she repeated the whole conversation with Mashko. Even Pani Emilia
could not reproach him with anything; she could not refuse a certain
admiration, though she had blamed Mashko for a violent character, and
had not expected that, in such a grievous moment for himself, he would
be able to show such moderation and nobleness. But Marynia said,--
"My Emilka, I know thy friendship for Pan Stanislav, but judge these
two men by their acts, not their words, and compare them."
"Never shall I compare them," answered Pani Emilia, "comparison is
impossible in this case. For me, Pan Stanislav is a nature a hundred
times loftier than Mashko, but thou judgest him unjustly. Thou,
Marynia, hast no right to say, 'One took Kremen from me; the other
wished to give it back.' Such was not the case. Pan Stanislav did not
take it from thee at any time; but to-day, if he could, he would return
it with all his heart. Prepossesion is talking through thee."
"Not prepossession, but reality, which nothing can change."
Pani Emilia seated Marynia before her, and said, "By all means,
Marynia, prepossession, and I will tell thee why. Thou art not
indifferent to Pan Stanislav now."
Marynia quivered as if some one had touched a wound which was paining
her; and after a while she replied, with changed voice,--
"Pan Stanislav is not indifferent to me; thou art right. Everything
which in me could be sympathy for him has turned to dislike; and hear,
Emilka, what I will tell thee. If I had to choose between those two
men, I should choose Mashko without hesitation."
Pani Emilia dropped her head; after a while Marynia's arms were around
her neck.
"What suffering for me, that I cause thee such pain! but I must tell
truth. I know that in the end thou, too, wilt cease to love me, and I
shall be all alone in the world."
And really something like that had begun. The young women parted with
embraces and kisses; but still, when they found themselves far from
each other, both felt that something between them had snapped, and that
their mutual relations would not be so cordial as hitherto.
Pani Emilia hesitated for a number of days whether to repeat Marynia's
words to Pan Stanislav; but he begged her so urgently for the whole
truth that at last she thought it necessary, and that she would better
tell it. When all had been told, he said,--
"I thank you. If Panna Plavitski feels contempt for me, I must endure
it; I cannot, however, endure this,--that I should begin to despise
myself. As it is, I have gone too far. My dear lady, you know that
if I have done her a wrong, I have tried to correct it, and gain her
forgiveness. I do not feel bound to further duties. I shall have
grievous moments; I do not hide that from you. But I have not been an
imbecile, and am not; I shall be able to bring myself to this,--I shall
throw all my feelings for Panna Plavitski through the window, as I
would something not needed in my chamber, I promise that sacredly."
He went home filled with will and energy. It seemed to him that he
could take that feeling and break it as he might break a cane across
his knee. This impulse lasted a number of days. During that time he did
not show himself anywhere, except at his office, where he talked with
Bigiel of business exclusively. He worked from morning till evening and
did not permit himself even to think about Marynia in the daytime.
But he could not guard himself from sleepless nights. Then came to him
the clear feeling that Marynia might love him, that she would be the
best wife for him, that he would be happy with her as never with any
one else, and that he would love her as his highest good. The regret
born of these thoughts filled his whole existence, and did not leave
him any more, so that sorrow was consuming his life and his health,
as rust consumes iron. Pan Stanislav began to grow thin; he saw that
the destruction of a feeling gives one sure result,--the destruction
of happiness. Never had he seen such a void before him, and never had
he felt, with equal force, that nothing would fill it. He saw, too,
that it was possible to love a woman not as she is, but as she might
be; therefore his heart-sickness was beyond measure. But, having great
power over himself, he avoided Marynia. He knew always when she was to
be at Pani Emilia's, and then he confined himself at home.
It was only when Litka fell ill again that he began to visit Pani
Emilia daily, passing hours with the sick child, whom Marynia attended
also.