“God gave us a son,” said Ketling; “and now again—”
“I have noticed,” interrupted Zagloba. “But here everything is on the old footing.”
Then he fixed his seeing eye on the little knight, whose mustaches quivered repeatedly.
Further conversation was interrupted by the coming of Krysia, who pointed to the door and said,—
“Basia invites you.”
All went to the chamber together, and there new greetings began. Ketling kissed Basia’s hand, and Pan Michael kissed Krysia’s again; then all looked at one another with curiosity, as people do who have not met for a long time.
Ketling had changed in almost nothing, except that he had his hair cut closely, and that made him seem younger; but Krysia had changed greatly, at least considering the time. She was not so slender and willowy as before, and her face was paler, for which reason the down on her lip seemed darker; but she had the former beautiful eyes with unusually long lashes, and the former calmness of countenance. Her features, once so wonderful, had lost, however, their previous delicacy. The loss might be, it is true, only temporary; still, Pan Michael, looking at her and comparing her with his Basia, could not but think,—
“For God’s sake, how could I fall in love with her when both were together? Where were my eyes?”
On the other hand, Basia seemed beautiful to Ketling; for she was really beautiful, with her golden, wayward forelock dropping toward her brows, with her complexion which, losing some of its ruddiness, had become after her illness like the leaf of a white rose. But now her face was enlivened somewhat by delight, and her delicate nostrils moved quickly. She seemed as youthful as if she had not yet reached maturity; and at the first glance it might be thought that she was some ten years younger than Ketling’s wife. But her beauty acted on the sensitive Ketling only in this way, that he began to think with more tenderness of his wife, for he felt guilty with regard to her.
Both women related to each other all that could be told in a short space of time; and the whole company, sitting around Basia’s bed, began to recall former days. But that conversation did not move somehow, for there were in those former days delicate subjects,—the confidences of Pan Michael with Krysia; and the indifference of the little knight for Basia, loved later, and various promises and various despairs. Life in Ketling’s house had a charm for all, and left an agreeable memory behind; but to speak of it was awkward.