Then he began to blink, weighing what he had said; after that, as if coming to himself, he looked for the buttons of his vest, and added,—
“But that young woman must have a soul pure as a tear, since God pointed her out and designated her to be the guardian of that fire.”
Svirski’s arrival interrupted further conversation. For Marynia it was not a surprise, as the artist had promised her that either he would come himself or write to inform her what turn his affair had taken. Marynia, seeing him now through the window, was nearly certain that all had ended auspiciously; but when he had entered the room and greeted every one, he looked at her with such a strange face that she did not know what to divine from it. Evidently he wished to speak of the affair, and that immediately; but he did not like to do so before the old professor and Pan Stanislav. So the latter, to whom Marynia had told everything, came to his aid, and, pointing to his wife, said,—
“She needs a walk greatly; take her to the garden, for I know that she and you have some words to say.”
After a while they found themselves in the alley among the white poplars. They walked a time in silence, he swaying on his broad hips of an athlete, and seeking for something from which to begin, she bent somewhat forward, with her kindly face full of curiosity. Both were in a hurry to speak, but Svirski began at another point.
“Have you told all to your husband?” asked he, on a sudden.
Marynia blushed as if caught in a fault, and answered,—
“Yes; for Stas is such a friend of yours, and I do not like to have secrets from him.”
“Of course not,” said Svirski, kissing her hand. “You did well. I am not ashamed of that, just as I am not ashamed of this, that I got a refusal.”
“Impossible! You are joking,” said Marynia, halting.