“Well, do you see?” said Pani Bigiel, whose face was radiant with pleasure.
“See what? I see nothing. She pleased me immensely,—true! You have no idea what a sympathetic and attractive person she is; and she must be good. But what of that? I cannot go a second time to Kremen, I came away in such anger. I said such bitter things, not only to Plavitski, but to her, that it is impossible.”
“Have you complicated matters much?”
“Rather too much than too little.”
“Then a letter might soften them.”
“I write a letter to Plavitski, and beg his pardon! For nothing on earth! Moreover, he has cursed me.”
“How, cursed?”
“As patriarch of the family; in his own name and the names of all ancestors. I feel toward him such a repulsion that I could not write down two words. He is an old pathetic comedian. I would sooner beg her pardon; but what would that effect? She must take her father’s part; even I understand that. In the most favorable event, she would answer that my letter is very agreeable to her; and with that relations would cease.”
“When Emilia returns from Reichenhall we will bring Marynia here under the first plausible pretext, and then it will be your work to let misunderstandings vanish.”
“Too late, too late!” repeated Pan Stanislav; “I have promised myself to sell the claim, and I will sell it.”