Pan Stanislav recalled how during his first visit to Kremen he had told Marynia of his Belgian times, when, living with some young Belgians, occupying himself with pessimism, he noticed finally that he took all these theories far more to heart than the Belgians, and that, through this, these theories spoiled his life more. Hence he said now,—
“Professor, thy speech is truthful. I have seen such things too, and the devils will take us all.”
Vaskovski fixed his mystic eyes on the frosty window-panes, and said,—
“No; some one else will take us all. That hotness of blood, that capacity for accepting an idea, are the great basis of the mission which Christ has designed for the Slavs.” Here Vaskovski pointed to a manuscript stained by the birds, and said mysteriously,—
“I am going with that; that is the labor of my life. Dost wish I will read from it?”
“As God lives, I haven’t time; it is late already.”
“True. It is growing dark. Then I will tell thee in brief words. Not only do I think, but I believe most profoundly, that the Slavs have a great mission.”
Here Vaskovski halted, began to rub his forehead, and said,—
“What a wonderful number,—‘three.’ There is some mystery in it.”
“Thou wert going to speak of a mission,” said Pan Stanislav, disquieted.