“And if I should go there, indeed, and give another meaning to yesterday’s words,” said he. But directly he thought, “I will not be a deceiver, at least, with reference to myself.”
He was certain, however, that she would not be astonished at his coming. After what he had told her yesterday, she might suppose that he would find some excuse for visiting her before the arrival of Marynia and the Bigiels, or for remaining behind them.
But should she see him driving past, she might think that he feared her, or consider him a boor, or jester.
“There is no doubt,” monologued he, further, “that a man who does not consider himself a fool, or a dolt, incapable of resisting any puppet, would go in and try to correct in some fashion yesterday’s stupidity.”
But at the same moment fear seized him. That same voice which yesterday evening shouted in his soul that he was a wretch, began to shout again with redoubled energy.
“I will not go in,” thought Pan Stanislav. “To understand and to be able to refrain are two different matters.”
Pani Kraslavski’s villa was visible now in the distance.
Suddenly it flew into his head that Pani Mashko, through vexation and the feeling of being contemned, through offended self-love, through revenge, might tell Marynia something that would open her eyes. Maybe she would do that with one word, with one smile, giving even, it might be, to understand further, that certain insolent hopes of his had been shattered by her womanly honesty, and in that way explain his absence. Women rarely refuse themselves such small revenges, and still more rarely are they merciful one toward another.
“If I had the courage to go in—”
At that moment the carriage was even with the gate of the villa.