Gronski remained silent for a while; after which he said:
"I think otherwise, nevertheless. This is not entirely hopeless. There remains sadness, grief and, as it were, the anticipation of the recurring swell. In reality, it will not flow to-day nor to-morrow.--In view of this, for you there remains either to persevere patiently and win anew that which you lost, or else, if you have not sufficient strength, to take some shears and sever the remaining threads."
"Such shears I will not find. Do you remember, sir, what she did for me when I was wounded? I will not forget that."
At this Gronski shaded his eyes with his hand, gazed at Ladislaus intently and asked:
"My dear sir, did you ever propound to yourself one question?"
"What one?"
"What pains you the more,--the loss of Miss Anney or your wounded self-love?"
"I thank you, sir," answered Ladislaus, with irony. "In reality, only self-love. Through it, I do not sleep, do not eat; through it, in the course of a few days, I have grown lean like a shaving and were it not for this living wound, life for me would be one perpetual round of pleasure."
And he began to laugh bitterly, while Gronski continued to gaze at him, not removing his hand from his ailing eyes, and thought:
"That girl has an honest heart, and let her only see him; then she will forgive everything through compassion alone."