Then he gave command to turn back, for the sun was toward setting. It was a beautiful day, of those which come at the end of summer. Over the city a golden, delicate dust was borne; the roofs, and especially the church towers, gleamed at the edges, as it were with the reflection of amber, and, outlined clearly in the transparent air, seemed to delight in it. The two men rode for some time in silence.
“Wilt thou go to my house, or to thy own lodgings?” asked Pan Stanislav, when they entered the city.
The city movement seemed to calm Pan Ignas, for he looked at Pan Stanislav with perfect presence of mind, and said,—
“I have not been at home since yesterday, for I spent the night with my father. Perhaps there are letters for me; let us drive to my lodgings.”
And he foresaw correctly, for at his lodgings a letter from Pani Bronich in Berlin was awaiting him. He tore open the envelope feverishly, and began to read; Pan Stanislav, looking at his changing face, thought,—
“It is evident that some hope is hidden yet in him.”
Here he remembered all at once that young doctor, who in his time said of Panna Kraslavski, “I know what she is, but I cannot tear my soul from her.”
Pan Ignas finished reading, and, resting his head on his hand, looked without thought on the table and the papers lying on it. At last he recovered, and gave the letter to Pan Stanislav.
“Read,” said he.
Pan Stanislav took the letter and read as follows:—