Pan Gideon had seen and known this, but still the words of the prelate produced on him a terrible impression. It is one thing when some pain-causing secret is hidden in the heart, and quite another when a strange hand pushes into one's bosom and shakes up that secret. So now his face became purple, his eyes filled with blood, a great bunch of veins came out on his forehead, and he began to pant on a sudden, and to breathe so quickly that the prelate, in alarm, asked,--
"What is the matter?"
Pan Gideon answered, with a motion of the hand, that it was nothing, but he remained silent.
"Drink some wine," cried the priest.
He stretched out his arm and with trembling hand took the glass, raised it to his lips, drank, blew through his lips, and whispered,--
"It darkened before my eyes just a trifle."
"Because of what I told you?"
"No. That for some time has occurred to me often, but now I am fatigued by the fast, by the journey, and by the spring, which is unexpected and early."
"Then perhaps it would be better not to wait for May, but be bled immediately."
"I will be bled, but I will rest a while now, and we will return later on to this business."