"Strike! spare not, here is my breast!"
But I have no thought of striking; I declare simply that I am going, lest I might say something more to Pan Suslovski.
In fact, I leave without saying farewell to any one.
The fresh breeze cools my heated head. Nine o'clock in the evening, and the night is very calm. I must walk to regain my composure, therefore I fly to the Alley of the Belvedere.
The windows in Hela's villa are dark. Evidently she is not at home. I know not myself why that causes me immense disappointment.
If I could see even her shadow on the window-pane, I should grow calm; but as it is, anger bears me away again.
What I shall do with that Ostrynski at the first meeting—I know not. Fortunately, he is not a man who withdraws before responsibility.
But speaking precisely, what claim have I against him? The article is written with infernal dexterity. Ostrynski denies that the minstrel is a disguised painter; he stands up, as it were, for Eva; but at the same time betrays the whole secret to Hela. Evidently he is trying to compromise Eva in the opinion of Hela; he takes vengeance on me for Kazia, and covers me besides with ridicule.
If only he hadn't said that my intelligence is blunted! The deed is done. In Hela's eyes I am covered with ridicule. She reads "The Kite."
Oh, what a dish of hash, and what bitterness for Eva! How that Ostrynski must triumph! Surely I must do something; but if I know what, may I become a reporter for "The Kite"!