Swidwicki did not lie when he said that he did not know the name of the
revolutionist to whom he promised an asylum, for in reality Pauly had
made a secret of it. She so arranged it with Laskowicz on the way. The
young student, learning that Swidwicki, to whom the girl was conducting
him, was an acquaintance of Gronski and Pani Otocka, in the first
moments became frightened inordinately. He recollected the letters
which he had written to Panna Marynia, and his odious relations with
Krzycki upon whom his party a short time previously perpetrated an
attack. Personally he did not participate in it and the suggestion did
not emanate from him, but on the other hand he did not have the
slightest doubt that the committee issued the death sentence as a
result of his reports designating Krzycki as the chief obstacle to
their propaganda, and he remembered that he did nothing to prevent the
attempt, and was even pleased in his soul that a man, hateful to him
and at the same time a putative rival, would be removed from his path.
For a time he even felt, owing to this "washing of hands," a certain
internal disgust; at the intelligence, however, that the attack was
unsuccessful he experienced, as it were, a feeling of disappointment.
And now he was going to seek shelter with a man who was a relative of
Pani Otocka and who might have heard of the letters to Marynia and his
relations with Krzycki. This was a turn of affairs, clearly fatal,
which might frustrate the best intentions of Panna Pauly.
Considering all this he began to beg the girl not to mention his name,
giving as a reason that in case the police should find him, Swidwicki
would be less culpable.
Pauly admitted the full justness of this; after a while, however, she
observed that if Pan Gronski should ever visit Swidwicki then
everything would be disclosed.
"Yes," answered the student, "but I need that refuge for only a few
days; after which I will look for another, or else my chiefs may
dispatch me abroad."
"What chiefs?" asked Pauly.
"Those who desire liberty and bread for all, and who will not tolerate
that some one should be raised above you, little lady, either in rank
or money."
"I do not understand. How is that? I would not be a servant and would
not have a mistress?"
"Yes."
Pauly was struck by the thought that in that case she would be nearer
to her "young lord," but not having time to discuss this any longer,
she repeated:
"I do not understand. Later, I will question you about it, but now let
us proceed."
And they walked hurriedly ahead, in silence, until they reached
Swidwicki's door. On the ringing of the bell, he opened it himself.
With surprise but also with a smile he saw Pauly in the dark hallway
and afterwards catching sight of Laskowicz, he asked:
"What is he here for? Who is he?"
"May we enter and may I speak with you in private?" asked the girl.
"If you please. The more private, the more agreeable it will be to me."
And they entered. The student remained in the first room. The master of
the house conducted Pauly to another and closed the door after him.
Laskowicz began to examine the large room, full of disorder, with
books, and engravings, and an abundance of bottles with white and blue
labels. On the round table, near the window, piled with daily
newspapers, stood a bottle with the legend: "Vin de Coca; Mariani," and
a few ash trays with charred lighters for cigars and cigarettes. The
furniture in the room was heavy and evidently when new was costly but
it was now dirty. Hanging on the wall were pictures, among them a
portrait of Pani Otocka, while yet a young unmarried lady. In one
corner protruded the well known statue of the Neapolitan Psyche with
mutilated skull.
The student placed the flower-pot with the Italian lilies on the table
and began to eavesdrop. His life was involved, for if shelter was
denied to him he undoubtedly would be arrested that day. Through the
closed door came to him from time to time Swidwicki's outbursts of
laughter, and the conversing voices, in which the voice of the girl
sounded at times as if entreating, and at other moments angry and
indignant. This lasted a long time. Finally the doors opened and the
first to enter was Pauly, evidently angry, and with burning cheeks;
after her came Swidwicki, who said:
"Very well. Since the beautiful Pauly so wishes it, I will not tell any
one who brought to me this Sir Ananias, and will keep him under cover,
but on condition that Pauly will prove a little grateful to me."
"I am grateful," answered the girl with irritation.
"These are the proofs," said Swidwicki, displaying marks on the back of
his hands. "A cat could not scratch any better. But to only look at
little Pauly, I will agree even to that. The next time we will have
some candy."
"Good-by till we meet again."
"Till we meet. May it be as frequent as possible."
The girl took the pot with the flowers and left. Then Swidwicki thrust
his hands into his pockets and began to stare at Laskowicz as if he had
before him, not a human being, but some singular animal. Laskowicz
looked at him in the same way, and during that short interval they
acquired for each other a mutual dislike.
Finally Swidwicki asked:
"Ah, esteemed Sir Benefactor, of what party? Socialist, anarchist, or
bandit? I beg of you! without ceremony! I do not ask your name, but it
is necessary to be acquainted somehow."
"I belong to the Polish Socialist Party," answered the student with a
certain pride.
"Aha! Then to the most stupid one. Excellent. That is as if some one
said: To the atheistic-Catholic or to the national-cosmopolitan? I am
truly delighted to bid you welcome."
Laskowicz was not in the least meek by nature, and besides he
understood in a moment that he had before him a man with whom he would
gain nothing by meekness; so, gazing straight into Swidwicki's eyes, he
replied almost contemptuously:
"If you, sir, can be a Catholic and Pole, I can be a socialist and
Pole."
But Swidwicki laughed.
"No, Sir Chieftain," he said, "Catholicism is a smell. One can be a cat
and have a fainter or stronger odor, but one cannot be a cat and dog in
one and the same person."
"I am no chieftain; only a third-class agent," retorted Laskowicz.
"You, sir, have given me a refuge and yourself the right to mock me."
"Exactly, exactly! But for that I shall not require any gratitude. We
can, after all, change the subject. Sit down, Sir Third-class Agent.
What is new? How is His Majesty, the king."
"What king?"
"Why the one you serve and who to-day has the most courtiers; the one
who, most of all, cannot endure the truth and most easily gulps
adulation; the one, who in winter smells of whiskey and in summer of
sour sweat,--that mangy, lousy, scabby, stinking, gracious, or rather,
ungracious ruler of the day. King Rabble."
If Laskowicz had heard the most monstrous blasphemies against a holy
object, which heretofore mankind venerated, he would not have been more
horrified than at the words which passed Swidwicki's lips. For him it
was as if he were struck on the head with a club, for it never crossed
his mind that any one would have dared to utter anything like that. His
eyes became dim, his jaws tightened convulsively, his hands began to
tremble. In the first moments he was possessed by an irrepressible
desire to shoot Swidwicki in the head with the revolver he carried with
him and afterwards slam the door and go wherever his eyes would take
him, or else to place the barrel to his ear and shatter his own head,
but he lacked the strength. All night long he had toiled in the
printing plant; after which he had fled over the roofs and through the
streets like a wild animal. He was fatigued, hungry, and exhausted with
the frightful experiences of that morning. So he suddenly staggered on
his feet, became as pale as a corpse, and would have tumbled upon the
ground if a chair had not stood close by, into which he sank heavily,
as if dead.
"What is this? What in the devil ails you?" asked Swidwicki.
And he began to assist him. He poured out of a bottle the remainder of
the cognac and forced him to drink it; afterwards he lifted him from
the chair and led him to another room and almost forcibly put him in
his own bed.
"What the devil!" he repeated; "how do you feel?"
"Better," answered Laskowicz.
Swidwicki glanced at his watch.
"In about ten minutes, the old woman who serves here ought to come. I
will order her to bring something to eat. In the meanwhile lie
quietly."
Laskowicz obeyed this advice, as he could not do otherwise. Lying
there, however, he for a time knit his brow, and evidently his mind was
laboring. Then he said:
"That king--about whom you inquired--is--starving--"
"May the devil take him!" replied Swidwicki. "The bourgeoisie will feed
him, and for this he at the first opportunity will cut their throats.
But do not take to heart too seriously whatever I say; for I say the
same and stronger things to all parties. All! Do you understand, sir?"
The bell interrupted further conversation. Laskowicz trembled like an
aspen leaf.
"That is my old woman. I recognize the ring," said Swidwicki. "She is
earlier to-day than usual. Very well. I will order her to bring food at
once."
In fact, after a quarter of an hour, food was placed on the table.
Refreshed, Laskowicz came entirely to himself and did not think of
forsaking his new shelter. Swidwicki began to open and rummage through
various drawers. Finally, finding a passport, he handed it to Laskowicz
and said:
"Before you, Sir Benefactor, become dictator of all Poland you will
call yourself Zaranczko. You come from Bessarabia and have served with
me a year. If they should catch you and, with you, me, repeat only one
expression, '_Mamalyga_,[9] _mamalyga_.'"
In this manner Laskowicz was installed in Swidwicki's home.