Pan Michael interrupted it first. “The night passed for me in grief and disquiet,” said he; “for yesterday I saw all except you, and such terrible tidings were told of you that I was nearer to weeping than to sleep.”
Krysia, hearing such outspoken words, grew still paler, so that for a while Pan Michael thought that she would faint, and said hurriedly, “We must talk of this matter; but now I will ask no more, so that you may grow calm and recover. I am no barbarian, nor am I a wolf, and God sees that I have good-will toward you.”
“Thank you!” whispered Krysia.
Zagloba, Pan Makovetski, and his wife began to exchange glances, as if urging one another to begin the usual conversation; but for a long time no one was able to venture a word; at last Zagloba began. “We must go to the city to-day,” said he, turning to the newly arrived. “It is boiling there before the election, as in a pot, for every man is urging his own candidate. On the road, I will tell you to whom, in my opinion, we should give our votes.”
No one answered, therefore Zagloba cast around an owlish eye; at last he turned to Basia, “Well, Maybug, will you go with us?”
“I will go even to Russia!” answered Basia, abruptly.
And silence followed again. The whole meal passed in similar attempts to begin a conversation that would not begin. At last the company rose. Then Pan Michael approached Krysia at once and said,—
“I must speak with you alone.”
He gave her his arm and conducted her to the adjoining room, to that same apartment which was the witness of their first kiss. Seating Krysia on the sofa, he took his place near her, and began to stroke her hair as he would have stroked the hair of a child.
“Krysia!” said he, at last, with a mild voice. “Has your confusion passed? Can you answer me calmly and with presence of mind?”