Antek, who in reality has a soft heart, is won over evidently. For a
week he goes to the Suslovskis regularly; for three days he walks around
me, frowns, looks at me just like a wolf.
At last one day at tea he inquires peevishly, "Well, what dost thou
think of doing with that girl?"
"With what girl?"
"With that Suslovski, or what is her name?"
"I don't think of doing anything with that Suslovski, or what is her
name."
A moment of silence follows, then Antek speaks again,--
"She is whining whole days, till I cannot look at her."
What an honest soul! At that moment too his voice trembles with emotion;
but he snorts like a rhinoceros and adds,--
"A decent man does not act in that fashion."
"Antek, thou art beginning to remind me of Papa Suslovski."
"I would rather remind thee of Papa Suslovski than wrong his daughter."
"I beg thee to drop me."
"Very well! I can even not know thee at all."
With this, the conversation ends, and thenceforth I do not speak to
Antek.
We pretend not to know each other, which is the more amusing since we
live together. We drink tea together in the morning, and it never occurs
to either of us to move out of the studio.
The time of my marriage is approaching. Through the intermediary of "The
Kite" all Warsaw knows of that now. All look at us; all admire Eva. When
we were at the exhibition, they surrounded us so that we could not push
through.
My unknown friendess sends an anonymous letter in which she warns me
that Eva is not the wife for a man like me.
"I do not believe what is said of the relations between Panna Adami and
Pan Ostrynski [writes my friend_ess_]; but thou, O master, art in need
of a wife who would devote herself altogether to thy greatness; Panna
Adami is an artist herself, and will always be drawing water to her own
mill."
Antek goes continually to the Suslovskis, but surely as a comforter, for
the Suslovskis must know of my intentions.
I have obtained an unlimited leave of absence for Eva. She begins to
wear her hair as a village maiden; she dresses very modestly and wears
robes closed to the neck. This becomes her very much. The scene in the
dressing-room has not been repeated. Eva does not permit it. The utmost
right I have is to kiss her hands. That makes me greatly impatient; but
I flatter myself that it affects her in the same way.
She loves me madly. We spend whole days together. I have begun to give
her lessons in drawing. She is swallowed up in those lectures, and
painting in general.