Marynia listened to this letter, looking at the tips of her shoes, like that Snopchinski of whom the Professor wrote. But Pan Stanislav laughed, and said,—
“Have you ever heard anything like this? It is long before our marriage; but he is lamenting over our children, and takes the field on their behalf. This is somewhat the history of my nest.”
After a while he added, “To tell the truth, the fault is mine; for I made him various promises.” And, inclining so that he could see Marynia’s eyes, he asked, “But what do you say to this letter?”
Pan Stanislav, inquiring thus, had chanced on that unhappy moment when a man is not himself, and acts not in accordance with his own nature. He was rather a harsh person generally, but not brutal, and at times was even capable of delicate acts, really womanlike. But now, in his look and in the question directed to a young lady so mimosa-like as Marynia, there was something simply brutal. She knew as well as others that after marriage come children; but this seemed to her something indefinite, not to be mentioned, or if mentioned, mentioned in allusions as delicate as lace, or in a moment of emotion, with beating heart, with loving lips at the ear, with solemnity,—as touching what is most sacred in a mutual future. Hence Pan Stanislav’s careless tone outraged and pained her. She thought, “Why does he not understand this?” and she in turn acted not in accordance with her nature; for, as happens frequently with timid persons in moments of bitterness and confusion, they exhibit greater anger than they feel.
“You should not treat me in this way!” cried she, indignantly. “You should not speak to me in this way!”
Pan Stanislav laughed again with feigned gayety.
“Why are you angry?” inquired he.
“You do not act with me as is proper.”
“I do not understand the question.”
“So much the worse.”