"I knew that you would receive it," replied Gronski, blinking with his ailing eyes and searching for his binocle, "I was already informed of it by Pani Otocka, who from the beginning insisted that Miss Anney ought to answer you, and in the end prevailed upon her."
Ladislaus reddened and asked:
"Ah! So Zosia Otocka knows everything."
"She does and does not know. Miss Anney told her only this much; 'He did not forget that he is a young lord and I a peasant woman and we ceased to understand each other.' For her it was yet harder to speak of this than for you and that difficulty festers all the more the wound which, without it, is deep enough--But I cannot find the binocle."
"Here it is," said Ladislaus.
Gronski placed it on his nose and began to read:
"You, yourself, sir, rent and trampled upon our joy, our happiness, my trust, and that deep attachment which I had for you. To your query of whether I can ever recover those feelings, I answer that I seek for them in vain. If ever I recover them I will inform you with the same sincerity with which I to-day say that I have in my heart only grief and sadness which for a joint life will not suffice."
"Only so much!" said Ladislaus.
"My foresight," answered Gronski, "is verified only too perfectly. The spring for the time being has dried up."
"To the bottom, to the bottom, not a drop for refreshment."