CHAPTER IX.
THREE weeks ago few persons knew of my existence, but now I begin to receive tens of letters, for the greater part love-letters. I may wager that of five four begin with these words: "It may be that when you have read this letter, you will despise the woman who, etc.—" I will not despise the woman, on condition that she will keep away from me.
Were it not for Kazia, perhaps, to tell the truth, I shouldn't shrug my shoulders so much at such a torrent of feeling.
How can such an "unknown" hope that a man who has never seen her will answer the invitation of an invisible woman? This makes me specially indignant. Remove first the curtain, O fair unknown! and when I behold thee, I will say to thee—Oi! I will say nothing, because of Kazia.
I receive also an anonymous missive, from some gray-haired friendess, in which I am called master, and Kazia a little goose.
"Oh, master, is she a wife for thee?" inquires my gray-haired friendess. "Is that a choice worthy of him on whom the eyes of the whole country are turned? Thou art a victim of intrigue, etc."
A wonderful supposition, and a still more wonderful demand, that I should marry not to please my heart but the public! And poor Kazia is already in their way!
There are greater crimes surely than anonymous letters, but there is no greater—how can I express myself justly? But never mind!
The end of my betrothal is not fixed yet, but it will come before long. Meanwhile I shall tell Kazia to array herself famously, and I will escort her to the exhibition. Let the world see us together.
Antek's two corpses have come also from Paris. The picture is called "The Last Meeting," and represents a young man and a young woman lying on the dissecting-table. At the first glance the idea is interpreted perfectly. It is clear that those two dead ones loved each other in life, that misery separated and death united them.