Basia raised her head, thrusting, like a child, now one and now the other fist into her eyes, choking and gulping at the air with open mouth, and answered with sobbing, “I am so sorry! Oh, for God’s sake! O Jesus! Pan Michael is so honest, so worthy! Oh, for God’s sake!”
Pan Michael seized her hands and began kissing them from gratitude. “God reward you! God reward you for your heart!” said he. “Quiet; do not weep.”
But Basia sobbed the more, almost to choking. Every vein in her was quivering from sorrow; she began to gulp for air more and more quickly; at last, stamping from excitement, she cried so loudly that it was heard through the whole corridor, “Krysia is a fool! I would rather have one Pan Michael than ten Ketlings! I love Pan Michael with all my strength,—better than auntie, better than uncle, better than Krysia!”
“For God’s sake! Basia!” cried the knight. And wishing to restrain her emotion, he seized her in his embrace, and she nestled up to his breast with all her strength, so that he felt her heart throbbing like a wearied bird; then he embraced her still more firmly, and they remained so.
Silence followed.
“Basia, do you wish me?” asked the little knight.
“I do, I do, I do!” answered Basia.
At this answer transport seized him in turn; he pressed his lips to her rosy lips, and again they remained so.
Meanwhile a carriage rattled up to the house, and Zagloba rushed into the ante-room, then to the dining-room, in which Pan Makovetski was sitting with his wife. “There is no sign of Michael!” cried he, in one breath; “I looked everywhere. Pan Krytski said that he saw him with Ketling. Surely they have fought!”
“Michael is here,” answered Pani Makovetski; “he brought Ketling and gave him Krysia.”