“What is Pani Osnovski to me, and what are all her affairs to me?” said Pan Ignas to himself next morning on the way to Pani Bronich’s: “I am not going to marry her, but my own one. Why did I so tear and torment myself yesterday?”
And when he had said this “to his lofty soul,” he began to think only of what he would say to Pani Bronich; for in spite of Osnovski’s assurances, in spite of every hope that that conversation would be merely a certain form for observance, in spite of his confidence in Lineta’s heart and the kindness of Pani Bronich, the “lofty soul” was in fear.
He found aunt and niece together; and, emboldened by yesterday, he pressed to his lips the hand of the young lady, who said, blushing slightly,—
“But I will run away.”
“Nitechka, stop!” said Pani Bronich.
“No,” answered she; “I fear this gentleman, and I fear aunt.”
Thus speaking, she began to rub her golden head, like a petted kitten, against the shoulder of Pani Bronich, saying,—
“Do not wrong him aunt; do not wrong him.”
And looking at him, she ran away really. Pan Ignas, from emotion and excess of love, was as pale as linen; Pani Bronich had tears on her lids. And, seeing that his throat was so pressed that it would have been easier for him to cry than to talk, she said,—
“I know why you have come. I have noticed this long time what was passing between you, my children.”