“Stop!” said Pan Stanislav to the driver.
He saw on the balcony Pani Mashko, who, however, withdrew at once.
He walked through the yard; the servant received him at the door.
“The lady is upstairs,” said he.
Pan Stanislav felt that his legs were trembling under him, when he walked up the steps; meanwhile the following thoughts flew through his head,—
“He may permit himself everything who takes life lightly, but I do not take it lightly. If, after all that I have considered and thought over and said, I could not master myself, I should be the last among men.” Now, standing at the door of the room pointed out by the servant, he inquired,—
“Is it permitted?”
“I beg,” said the thin voice.
And after a while he found himself in Pani Mashko’s boudoir.
“I have come in,” said he, giving her his hand, “to explain that I cannot be at supper. I must go to the city.”