“Even if some one besides me should ask?”
“That is—again, I am not a stone.”
Lineta laughed when she heard these words. In secret she was pleased that Pan Ignas, at one word touching her which to him seemed offensive, sprang up as if he had heard a blasphemy. So that during the sitting, when for a while they were alone, she said,—
“It is wonderful how little I believe in the sincerity of people. So difficult is it for me to believe that any one, except aunt, should wish me well really.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I cannot explain it to myself.”
“But, for example, the Osnovskis? Pani Aneta?”
“Pani Aneta?” repeated Lineta.
And she began to paint diligently, as if she had forgotten the question.
“But I?” asked Pan Ignas, in a lower voice.