I thought so much of this picture that I bore the loss of Kazia more easily. When Antek reminded me of her, the subject seemed one of long ago. Meanwhile, my comrade pulled on his other boot, and I heated the samovar. Old Antonia came with cakes; Antek had been persuading this woman in vain for a year to hang herself. We sat down to tea.
"Why art thou so glad?" asked Antek, peevishly.
"Because I know that thou wilt see something of uncommon interest to-day."
At this moment we hear steps approaching the studio.
"Thy house-owner! There is thy 'something uncommon'!"
Saying this, Antek gulps down his tea, which is so hot that tears fill his eyes. Up he springs; and since our little kitchen is in the passage, he hides in the studio behind the costumes, and from his hiding-place cries, with a panting voice,—
"Thou! he loves thee immensely, talk thou to him."
"He is dying for thee!" answer I, flying to the costumes, "talk thou to him!"
Meanwhile the door opens, and who comes in? Not the house-owner, but the watchman of the house in which the Suslovskis are living.
We rush out from behind the costumes.