“Ah, well, haven’t I given a surprise?” inquired she.
Pan Stanislav sprang up at sight of her, with a feeling of sudden and immense delight, and, seizing her hands, began to kiss them, one after the other.
“But, my dear, this is really a surprise!” said he. “Whence did it come to thy head to look in here?”
And thus speaking, he pushed an armchair toward her, and seated her as a dear and honored guest; from his radiant face it was evident what pleasure her presence was giving him.
“I have something curious to show thee,” said Marynia; “and because I must walk a good deal, anyhow, I came in. And thou, what didst thou think? Whom didst thou look for? Own up, right away!”
Thus speaking, she began to threaten him while laughing; but he answered,—
“So much business is done here, in every case I didn’t think it was thou. What hast thou to show?”
“See what a letter I have!”
Dear and Beloved Lady,—It will astonish you perhaps that I turn to you; but you, who are to become a mother soon, are the only person on earth who will understand what must take place in the heart of a mother—even if she is only an aunt—who sees her child’s unhappiness. Believe me it is a question for me of nothing else than bringing even temporary relief to an unhappy child; and it interests me the more, that in all this that has happened I myself am to blame chiefly. Perhaps these words too will astonish you, but it is the case. I am to blame. If a bad and spoilt man, at the moment when Nitechka was tottering and losing her balance, dared to touch her with his unworthy lips, I should not have lost my head and sacrificed the child. Indeed, Yozio Osnovski is to blame too: he put the question of marriage on a sharp knife; he suspected something and wanted to rid his house of Kopovski. May God forgive him, for it is not proper to defend one’s self at the cost of another’s happiness and life. My dear lady! it seemed to me at the first moment that the only issue was marriage with the unworthy Kopovski, and that Nitechka had no longer the right to become the wife of Ignas. I wrote even purposely to Ignas that she followed the impulse of her heart, and that she would give her hand to Kopovski with attachment; and I thought that in this way Ignas would bear the loss of her more easily, and I wanted to decrease his pain. Nitechka for Kopovski! The merciful God did not permit that; and when I too saw that that union would have been death for Nitechka, we were thinking only of this, how to be free of those bonds. It is no longer a question for me of returning to former relations, for Nitechka too has lost faith in people and in life, so that probably she would never be willing to agree to a return. She does not even know that I am writing this letter. If the beloved lady had seen how Nitechka has paid for all this with her health, and how terribly she felt the act of Pan Ignas, she would have pitied her. Pan Ignas should not have done what he has done, even out of regard for Nitechka; alas! men in such cases count only with their own wishes. She is as much to blame in all this as a newly born infant; but I see how she melts before my eyes, and how from morning till evening she is grieving because she was the unconscious cause of his misfortune, and might have broken his life. Yesterday, with tears in her eyes, she begged me in case of her death to be a mother to Ignas, and to watch over him as over my own son. Every day she says that maybe he is cursing her, and my heart is breaking, for the doctor says that he answers for nothing if her condition continues. O God of mercy! but come to the aid of a despairing mother; let me know even from time to time something about Ignas, or rather write to me that he is well, that he is calm, that he has forgotten her, that he is not cursing her, so that I might show her that letter and bring her even a little relief from her torture. I feel that I am writing only in half consciousness, but you will understand what is taking place in me, when I look on that unhappy sacrifice. God will reward you and I will pray every day that your daughter, if God gives you a daughter, be happier than my poor Nitechka.
“What is thy thought about that?” inquired Marynia.