Danusia lay quiet trying to recall something to her mind and reflecting upon something. Then finally she asked:
"So, you cared for me?"
Two tears which were gathering in her eyes slowly rolled down her cheeks upon the pillow.
"I, not care for you?" cried Zbyszko.
There was something more powerful in that smothered exclamation than in the most vehement protestations and oaths, because he had always loved her with his whole soul. And from the moment when he had recovered her she had become more dear to him than the whole world.
Silence reigned again. The distant singing of the mowing peasant ceased and he began to whet his scythe again.
Danusia's lips moved again, but with such a low whisper that Zbyszko could not hear it. He therefore bent over her and asked:
"What do you say, darling?"
But she repeated:
"Sweet smelling blossoms."