Marynia’s face grew radiant in one instant. “Oh, you are right! Stas is annoyed a little, surely; and the moment he is annoyed he is angry.”
And she fell into perfect good-humor. She would have been glad to give a rivière of diamonds, like that which Pan Zavilovski had brought to Lineta, to make “Stas” approach at that moment, to say something herself to him, and hear a kind word from him. In fact, a few minutes later her wish was accomplished, for Osnovski approached Pani Mashko; Pan Stanislav rose, and, saying a word or two on the way to Pani Aneta, who was talking to Kopovski, sat down at last by his wife.
“Dost wish to tell me something?” he inquired.
“How wonderful it is, Stas, for I called to thee that moment, but only in mind; still thou hast felt and art here with me.”
“See what a husband I am,” answered he, with a smile. “But the reason is really very simple: I noticed thee looking at me; I was afraid that something might have happened, and I came.”
“I was looking, for I wanted something.”
“And I came, for I wanted something. How dost thou feel? Tell the truth! Perhaps thou hast a wish to go home?”
“No, Stas, as I love thee, I am perfectly comfortable. I was talking with Pan Svirski of Pani Mashko, and was entertained well.”
“I guessed that you were gossiping about her. This artist says himself that he has an evil tongue.”
“On the contrary,” answered Svirski, “I was only admiring her form. The turn for my tongue may come later.”