"What did I say? Good heavens!"
"That I--I was a good----" She broke again into convulsive sobs that stifled her voice.
He shook his head, perplexed at her distress. He had never looked very deeply into the most complex problems of the human soul, and did not know that even dishonour has its code of honour. Laughing, he laid his hand on her shoulder.
"Don't cry any more, Regina; I meant no harm. And now get my breakfast ready."
"May--I--bring it in?" she asked, still sobbing.
"Do you want me to come and fetch it?"
"I only thought I mightn't--" She moved to the hearth and began blowing the smouldering fire, using her tear-stained cheeks as bellows.
After that she was no longer shy of entering his room when he was there. Ever anxious to forestall his wishes, she seemed to read his countenance without a question passing her lips.
Boleslav had found, in the recesses of the cellar in which money and wine were stored, great masses of papers stuffed into chests, where chaos reigned supreme. They contained the whole of his father's correspondence, deeds, and documents of every description. His first search among them had brought to light nothing less important than his aunt's last will and testament, in which her Excellency bequeathed to Boleslav von Schranden, the only son of her favourite niece, the whole of her fortune, "to compensate him for the wrong," so ran the clause, "from which he would suffer to the end of his days."
Boleslav's pleasure at first was not great; it was only when he considered that here was a weapon put into his hand to use in the coming struggle, that he began to appreciate the value of the gift. He scarcely gave a thought to the giver, who had always been kindness itself to him, so hardened had he become, so completely was his mind engrossed by contemplation of the grim work that it was his duty to carry on.