Meanwhile Marynia ran into her father’s chamber. Plavitski had risen, and was sitting, attired in his dressing-gown, before a desk covered with papers. For a while he turned to answer the good-day of his daughter, then occupied himself again with reading the papers.
“Papa,” said Marynia, “I have come to speak of Pan Stanislav. Does papa—”
But he interrupted her without ceasing to look at the papers,—
“I will bend thy Pan Stanislav in my hand like wax.”
“I doubt if that will be easy. Finally, I should wish that he were paid before others, even with the greatest loss to us.”
Plavitski, turning from the desk, gazed at her, and asked coolly,—
“Is this, I pray, a guardianship over him, or over me?”
“It is a question of our honor.”
“In which, as thou thinkest, I need thy assistance?”
“No, papa; but—”