“They are; and Pan Kopovski, too.”
“But who will open for me?”
“The door is open. I’ve come out only this minute.”
Pan Ignas went up; but, finding no one in the common drawing-room, he went to the studio. There, too, he found no one; but in the adjoining smaller chamber certain low voices reached him through the portière dividing that room from the studio. Thinking to find there both ladies and Kopovski, he drew aside the portière slightly, and, looking in, was stupefied.
Lineta was not in the room; but Kopovski was kneeling before Pani Osnovski, who, holding her hands thrust into his abundant hair, was bending his head back, inclining her face at the same time, as if to place a kiss on his forehead.
“Anetka, if thou love me—” said Kopovski, with a voice stifled from passion.
“I love—but no! I don’t want that,” answered Pani Osnovski, pushing him away somewhat.
Pan Ignas dropped the portière with an involuntary movement; for a moment he stood before it as if his feet had grown leaden. Finally, without giving himself a clear account of what he was doing, he passed through the studio, where the sound of his steps was deadened on the thick carpet, as it had been when he entered; he passed the main drawing-room, the entrance, the front steps, and came to himself at the gate of the villa.
“Is the serene lord going out?” inquired the old serving-man.
“Yes,” answered Pan Ignas.