“Ah! Mashko is married; their wedding was three days after ours.”
But Marynia, as if roused from a dream, inquired, while blinking, “What dost thou say?”
“I say, dreaming head, that Mashko’s wedding is over.”
She rested her head on his shoulder, and, looking into his eyes, inquired,—
“What is Mashko to me? I have my Stas.”
Pan Stanislav smiled like a man who kindly permits himself to be loved, but does not wonder that he is loved; then he kissed his wife on the forehead, with a certain distraction, for the letter had begun to occupy him, and read on. All at once he sprang up, as if something had pricked him, and cried,—
“Oh, that is a real catastrophe!”
“What has happened?”
“Panna Kraslavski has a life annuity of nine thousand rubles, which her uncle left her; beyond that, not a copper.”
“But that is a good deal.”