“Till to-morrow.”
“Till to-morrow,” said he, kissing her hands,—“till after to-morrow, daily;” and here he added in a low voice, “Until our marriage.”
“Yes,” answered Marynia.
Pan Stanislav went out. In his head and in his heart he felt a great whirl of feelings, thoughts, impressions, above which towered one great feeling,—that something unheard of in its decisiveness had happened; that his fate had been settled; that the time of reckoning, of wavering and changing, had passed; that he must begin a new life. And that feeling was not unpleasant to him,—nay, it verged on a kind of delight, especially when he remembered how he had kissed Marynia’s hair and temples. That which was lacking in his feelings shrank and vanished almost utterly in this remembrance; and it seemed to Pan Stanislav that he had found everything requisite to perfect happiness. “I shall never grow sated with this,” thought he; and it seemed to him simply impossible that he should. He remembered then the goodness of Marynia, and how reliable she was; how on such a heart and character he might build; how in living with her nothing could ever threaten him; how she would not trample on any quality of his, nor make it of no avail; how she would receive as gold that which in him was gold; how she would live for him, not for herself. And, meditating in this way, he asked what better could he find? and he wondered indeed at his recent hesitation. Still he felt that what was coming was a change so gigantic, so immensely decisive, that somewhere at the bottom, in the deepest corner of his soul, there was roused a kind of alarm before this unknown happiness. But he did not hesitate. “I am neither a coward nor an imbecile,” thought he. “It is necessary to go ahead, and I will go.”
Returning home, he looked at Litka; and immediately there opened before him, as it were, a new, clear horizon. He thought that he might have children, have such a bright dear head as this—and with Marynia. At the very thought his heart began to beat with greater life, and to the impulse of thoughts was joined such a solace of life as he had not known previously. He felt almost perfectly happy. Looking by chance at Bukatski’s letter, which he took from his pocket before undressing, he laughed so heartily that the servant looked in with astonishment. Pan Stanislav wished to tell him that he was going to marry. He fell asleep only toward morning, but rose sprightly and fresh; after dressing, he flew to his office to announce the news to Bigiel at the earliest.
Bigiel embraced him, then, with his usual deliberation, proceeded to consider the affair, and said finally,—
“Reasoning the matter over, this is the wisest thing that thou hast done in life;” then, pointing to a box of papers, he added, “Those contracts ought to be profitable, but thine is still better.”
“Isn’t it?” exclaimed Pan Stanislav, boastfully.
“I will fly to tell my wife,” said Bigiel, “for I cannot contain myself; but go thou home, and go for good. I will take thy place till the wedding, and during the honeymoon.”
“Very well; I will hurry to see Mashko, and then Marynia and I will go to Litka.”