Then they returned to the rest of the company, who, having finished a survey of the garden, were assembling for dinner. Pan Stanislav, looking at the charming face of Lineta, thought that when Pan Zavilovski carried her in his arms, she might, in fact, have been a nice and pretty child. Suddenly he remembered Litka, whom he carried in his arms also, and inquired,—
“Then are you an old acquaintance of the deceased?”
“Oh—so,” answered Lineta. “About four years. Aunt, how long is it since we became acquainted with Pan Zavilovski?”
“Of what is that dear head thinking?” exclaimed Pani Bronich. “Ah, my dear, what a happy age! and what a happy period!”
During this time Svirski, who was sitting near Panna Ratkovski, felt that it would not be so easy for him to carry out the promise given Marynia as it had seemed to him. Witnesses hindered him, and, still more, a certain alarm about the heart, joined to a loss of usual presence of mind and freedom. “To think,” said he to himself, “that I am a greater coward than I supposed.” And he did not succeed. He wanted at least to prepare the ground, and he talked of something different from what he wished; he noticed now that Panna Ratkovski had a beautiful neck, and pearl tones about her ears, and a very charming voice—but he noticed with astonishment that this made him still more timid. After lunch the whole company sat together as if through perversity. The ladies were wearied by the funeral; and when, an hour later, Pani Aneta announced that it was time to return, he felt at once a sensation of disappointment and relief.
“It is not my fault,” thought he; “I had a fixed purpose.”
But when the ladies were taking their places, the feeling of solace changed into sorrow for himself. He thought of his loneliness, and of this, that he had no one on whom to bestow his reputation or his property; he thought of his sympathy for Panna Ratkovski, of the confidence which she had roused in him, of the sincere feeling which he had conceived for her at the first glance,—and at the last moment he took courage.
Giving his arm to the young lady to conduct her to the carriage, he said,—
“Pan Osnovski has asked me to come again to Prytulov, and I will come, but with a brush and palette; I should like to have your head.”
And he stopped, trying how to pass from that which he had said to that which he wished to say, and feeling at the same time that he needed to hurry immensely, for there was no time. But Panna Ratkovski, evidently unaccustomed to this, that any man should occupy himself with her, inquired with unfeigned astonishment,—