“That is called going straight to the object,” said Kresovski, who quite agreed with Pan Yamish.
“But from necessity,—and sad necessity,” replied Yamish.
“I must be in my office at eleven,” said Pan Stanislav, looking at his watch; “but, if you permit, I will run in here about one o’clock, to look over the conditions and sign them.”
“That will do. We cannot draw up conditions that will rouse people’s laughter, that I understand and inform you; but I count on this,—that you, gentlemen, will not make them too stringent.”
“I have no thought, I assure you, of quarrelling to risk another man’s life.” So saying, Pan Stanislav started for his office, where, in fact, a number of affairs of considerable importance were awaiting him, and which, in Bigiel’s absence, he had to settle alone. In the afternoon he signed the conditions of the duel, which were serious, but not too stringent. He went then to dinner, for he hoped to find Mashko in the restaurant. Mashko had gone to Pani Kraslavski’s; and the first person whom Pan Stanislav saw was Plavitski, dressed, as usual, with care, shaven, buttoned, fresh-looking, but gloomy as night.
“What is my respected uncle doing here?” asked Pan Stanislav.
“When I have trouble, I do not dine at home usually, and this to avoid afflicting Marynia,” answered Plavitski. “I go somewhere; and as thou seest, the wing of a chicken, a spoonful of preserve, is all that I need. Take a seat with me, if thou hast no pleasanter company.”
“What has happened?”
“Old traditions are perishing; that has happened.”
“Bah! this is not a misfortune personal to uncle.”