“Ah, what a pretty picture!” said he.
He looked more carefully at Lineta; and she smiled, as if in thankfulness that he had felt the beauty of the image.
But at that moment the Bigiels came. Pani Bronich took Zavilovski into her sphere of influence, and so hemmed him in with her chair that he had no chance to escape. It was easy to divine the subject of their dialogue, for Zavilovski raised his eyes from time to time to Lineta, as if to convince himself that he was looking at that about which he was hearing. At last, though the conversation was conducted in subdued tones, those present heard these words, spoken as if through sugar,—
“Do you know that Napoleon—that is, I wanted to say Victor Hugo—blessed her?”
In general, Zavilovski had heard so many uncommon things that he might look at Lineta with a certain curiosity. She had been, according to those narratives, the most marvellous child in the world, always very gentle, and not strong. At ten years she had been very ill; sea air was prescribed, and those ladies dwelt a long time on Stromboli.
“The child looked at the volcano, at the sea, and clapped her little hands, repeating, ‘Beautiful, beautiful!’ We went there by chance, wandered in on a hired yacht, without object; it was difficult to stay long, for that is an empty island. There was no proper place to live in, and not much to eat; but she, as if with foreknowledge that she would regain her health there, would not leave for anything. In fact, in a month, and if not in a month, in two, she began to be herself, and see what a reed she is.”
In fact, Lineta, though shapely and not too large, in stature was somewhat taller than Pani Aneta. Zavilovski looked at her with growing interest. Before the guests separated, when he was freed at last from imprisonment, he approached her, and said,—
“I have never seen a volcano, and I have no idea what impression it may make.”
“I know only Vesuvius,” answered she; “but when I saw it there was no eruption.”
“But Stromboli?”