“Do you find, too, that there is something uncommon in Pan Kopovski?”
“Of course, of course! When he walks the streets even, it seems that he is carrying his head into fresh air, lest the moths might devour it.”
The corners of Marynia’s mouth bore the test, but her eyes laughed evidently; at last, unable to endure, she said, in a low voice,—
“Outrageously jealous!”
“I? Not the least!”
“Well, I will give you an extract from our conversation. You know that yesterday there was a case of catalepsy during the concert; to-day they were talking of that near us; then, among other things, I asked Pan Kopovski if he had seen the cataleptic person. Do you know what he answered? ‘Each of us may have different convictions.’ Well, now, isn’t he uncommon?”
Pan Stanislav was pacified, and began to laugh.
“But I tell you that he simply doesn’t understand what is said to him, and answers anything.”
They passed the rest of the evening with each other in good agreement. At the time of parting, when the Plavitskis, having a carriage with seats for only two persons, were unable to take Pan Stanislav, Marynia turned to him and inquired,—
“Will the cross, whimsical man come to-morrow to dine with us?”