To Gronski it seemed at that moment that he was enveloped by a deep night and that amidst that impenetrable darkness he answered in a strange voice:
"No, no!"
And she spoke with terror, her countenance growing more and more pallid:
"I do not want to die--I am afraid--"
And again tears began to trickle from her eyes--tears inconsolable, tears of a wronged child.
The entrance of a priest relieved the harrowing moment. It was the same old prelate, a relative of the Krzyckis and the Zbyltowskis, who previously shrived Pani Krzycki. Drawing nearer, he sat beside Marynia's bed and bending over her with a cheering smile, full of hope, said:
"How are you, dear child? Ah, the wretches!--But God is more powerful than they and everything will end well. I only came to ask about your health. God be praised the bullet is already extracted.--Now only patience is necessary and you will be patient--will you not?"
Marynia winked her eyes as a token of acquiescence.
The amiable old man continued in a more genial and as if jubilant voice:
"Ah! I knew that you would. Now I will tell you that there is something which often is more efficacious than all the medicines and bandages. Do you know what it is? The Sacrament! Ho! how often in life have I seen that people, who were separated from death by a hair, became at once better after confession, communion, and anointment, and after that recovered their health entirely. You, my dove, are surely far from death, but since it is a Christian duty, which helps the soul and body, it is necessary to perform it. Well, child?"