“I give you my word that I am not.” And, seeing the pain which the news caused her, he began to speak as if with concern. “But don’t take it more to heart than I do. That happened which had to happen. See, I have come; I am standing before you; I have not fired into my forehead, and have no thought of doing so; but that I got a basket[12] is undoubted.”
“But why? what did she answer you?”
“Why? what did she answer me?” repeated Svirski. “You see, just in that is hidden something from which there is a bitter taste in my mouth. I confess to you sincerely that I did not love Panna Ratkovski deeply. She pleased me; they all please me. I thought that she would be an honest and grateful heart, and I made a declaration here; but more through calculation, and because it was time for me. Afterward I had even a little burning at the heart. There was even a moment when I said to myself, ‘Thy declaration in Buchynek was not precise enough: better put it forward another corner.’ I grew shamefaced. ‘What the deuce!’ thought I; ‘thou hast crossed the threshold with one foot; go over with the other.’ And I wrote her a letter, this time with perfect precision; and see what she has written as an answer.”
Then he drew a letter from his coat-pocket, and said, before he began to read it,—
“At first there are the usual commonplaces, which you know. She esteems me greatly; she would be proud and happy (but she prefers not to be); she nourishes for me sincere sympathy. (If she will nourish her husband as she does that sympathy, he will not be fat.) But at the end she says as follows:—
“‘I have not the power to give you my heart with such delight as you deserve. I have chosen otherwise; and if I never shall be happy, I do not wish at least to reproach myself hereafter with not having been sincere. In view of what has happened here I cannot write more; but believe me that I shall be grateful to you all my life for your confidence, and henceforth I shall pray daily that God permit you to find a heart worthy of you, and to bless you all your life.’
“That is all.”
A moment of silence followed; then Svirski said,—
“So far as I am concerned, these are empty words; but they mean, I love another.”
“That is the case, I suppose,” replied Marynia, sadly. “Poor girl! for that is an honest letter.”