In a week, when probability had become certainty, Pan Stanislav gave the news to the Bigiels. Pani Bigiel flew the same day to Marynia, who fell to weeping with gladness on her honest shoulders.
“It seems to me,” said she, “that Stas will love me more now.”
“How more?”
“I wished to say still more,” answered Marynia. “Seest thou, for that matter, I have never enough.”
“He would have to settle with me if there were not enough.”
The tears dried on Marynia’s sweet face, and only a smile remained. After a time she clasped her hands, as if in prayer, and said,—
“Oh, my God, if it is only a daughter! for Stas wants a daughter.”
“And what wouldst thou like?”
“I—but don’t tell Stas—I should like a son; but let it be a daughter.”
Then she grew thoughtful, and asked,—