"Will she consent? What sayst thou?"
Yosef's eyes flashed.
"Listen, old man, I say this: I know not the good of this conversation. Perhaps she might not consent to-day, but in half a year or a year she will consent. If thou wert there thou mightest contend with him; otherwise, I repeat, she will consent."
"On what dost thou rest that judgment?"
"On what? A certain evening when I saw Pelski I was listening, and he asked, 'Of what family is Shvarts?' and she answered, 'I know not, really.' Thou seest! But when I said that thou art the son of a blacksmith, she was in flames, and almost burst into weeping from anger at me. There it is for thee!"
Yosef also felt at that moment as it were a wish to weep from anger.
"Seest thou," continued Augustinovich, "Pelski unconsciously and unwittingly acts with great success; he brings her mind to ancient titles and brilliant relations; he cannot even do otherwise. And she is an aristocrat in every case. Thou rememberest how on a time that angered me and thee, and how much thou didst labor to shatter those principles in her. By the crocodile! there is nothing haughtier than proud poverty. Pelski acts wisely, he flatters her vanity, he rouses her self-love; that removes her from us. But we, my old man, are such counts as, without comparing—Oh, Satan take it! I cannot find here comparisons."
In fact, he did not find comparisons, and for want of them he fell to puffing out strong rings of smoke, and trying diligently to catch some of them on his fingers. Meanwhile Yosef looked stubbornly at one point in the ceiling, and asked at last,—
"Didst tell her that I was going to marry Helena?"
"No."