“They are not long married.”
“It is evident that he loves her immensely. When I praised her, his eyes were smiling, and he rose as if on yeast.”
“She loves him a hundred times more.”
“What knowledge hast thou in such matters?”
Bukatski did not answer; he only raised his pointed nose, and said, as if to himself, —
“Oh, marriage and love have disgusted me; for it is always profit on one side, and sacrifice on the other. Polanyetski is a good man, but what of that? She has just as much sense, just as much character, but she loves more; therefore life will fix itself for them in this way,—he will be the sun, he will be gracious enough to shine, to warm, will consider her as his property, as a planet made to circle around him. All this is indicated to-day. She has entered his sphere. There is in him a certain self-confidence which angers me. He will have her with an income, but she will have him alone without an income. He will permit himself to love, considering his love as virtue, kindness, and favor; she will love, considering her love as a happiness and a duty. Look, if you please, at him, the divine, the resplendent! I want to go back and tell them this, in the hope that they will be less happy.”
Meanwhile the two men had taken seats in front of Floriani’s, and soon cognac was brought to them. Svirski thought some time over the Polanyetskis, and then inquired,—
“But if the position is pleasant for her?”
“I know that she has short sight; she might be pleased quite as well to wear glasses.”
“Go to the deuce! glasses on a face like hers—”