"He swallowed the tidings and is trying to digest them," again blurted out Swidwicki.
"That substantially is the case. He found himself in a new situation and locked himself up. It dumfounded him a little, and he desires to come to himself."
"He was enamoured to the point of ludicrousness but now he will probably break off."
"I do not admit that, but I repeat, that, in view of the changed situation, he has fallen into a certain internal strife, which he must first quell."
"I candidly confess that I would break off all relations unconditionally."
"But if Kaska or Hanka had a hundred thousand pounds?" asked Swidwicki.
"In such a case--I would have fallen into a strife," answered Dolhanski, phlegmatically.
After a while he continued:
"For it seems that it is nothing, but in life it may appear to be something. Omitting the various cousins, 'Mats' and 'Jacks,' who undoubtedly will be found; there also will be found dissimilar instincts, dissimilar dispositions, and dissimilar tastes. Why, the deuce! I would not want a wife who suddenly might be ruled by an unexpected passion for amber rosaries, for shelling peas, for swingling flax, for picking fruit, or for gathering mushrooms, not to say berries and nuts, and walking barefooted."
Here he turned to Gronski.