Here he was silent a while, and then added,—
“As to death, we may and should be reconciled to it, and death has never made me indignant; but why pain exists, that, as God lives, passes human understanding.”
No one took up the consideration, so Svirski, shaking the ashes from his cigar, said,—
“But never mind that. After dinner, and with black coffee, it is possible to find a more agreeable subject.”
“Tell us of Pan Ignas,” said Pani Bigiel.
“He pleases me. In all that he does and says the lion’s claw is evident, and, in general, his nature is uncommon, immensely vital. During those two days in Prytulov we became acquainted a little more nearly, and grew friendly. You have no idea how Osnovski has grown to like the man; and I told Osnovski openly that I feared that Pan Ignas might not be happy with those ladies.”
“But why?” asked Marynia.
“That is difficult to say, since one has no facts; but it is felt. Why? Because his nature is utterly different from theirs. You see, that all the loftier aspirations, which for Pan Ignas are the soul of his life, are for those ladies merely an ornament,—something like lace on a dress worn for guests, while on common days the person who owns it goes about in a dressing-gown; and that is a great difference. I fear lest they, instead of soaring with his flight, try to make him jog along by their side, at their own little goose-trot, and convert that which is in him into small change for their every-day social out-go. And there is something in him! I do not presuppose that catastrophes of any kind are to come, for I have not the right to refuse them ordinary petty honesty, but there may be non-happiness. I say only this much: you all know Pan Ignas, and you know that he is wonderfully simple; but still, according to me, his love for Castelka is too difficult and exclusive. He puts into it all his soul; and she is ready to give a little bit—so! The rest she would like to keep for social relations, for comforts, for toilets, for visits, for luxuries, for five o’clocks, for lawn-tennis with Kopovski,—in a word, for that mill in which life is ground into bran.”
“This may not fit Panna Castelli, and if it does not, so much the better for Pan Ignas,” said Bigiel; “but in general it is pointed.”
“No,” said Pani Bigiel, “that first of all is wicked; in truth, you hate women.”