"But the child?"
Radionek heard the words; frightened, he threw himself into the arms of his adoptive father, and Iermola, touched and grateful, pressed him to his breast.
"You are a good dear child," he cried. "You will not go away from me; you will not leave me alone; you will not forget your old father. You know I should die without you; you can do as you like when you have closed my eyes. And may God's eternal blessings follow you then!"
Druzyna, who was gazing in silence upon this scene, led, or rather dragged his wife away by force, carried her to the carriage, and ordered the coachman to return home. Chwedko set off for the village, where he spread this important piece of news.
After Druzyna's departure, there was no visible change in the old inn, but the peace and happiness which the day before had reigned beneath that thatched roof had flown away. Iermola, silent and motionless, remained seated on the door-sill; Radionek at times wept quietly, and at others gave himself up to dreamy meditation. Then they drew near each other and spoke a few sad, tender words in a low voice. The morning found them still in the door-sill, half asleep, and cowering in each other's arms as though they feared some one would come to separate them.
The broad daylight, as it opened their eyes to the sun, which dispels the terrors of night and revives the forces of life, brought back to them the remembrance of the events of the day before; but it presented them in another light, and awoke in them other sentiments, which gathered about each event, each serious thought, like mercenary servants grouped around a coffin. A thousand ideas, a thousand confused impressions crowded upon their minds, each struggling with the other to clear away the difficulty.
Neither the old man nor Radionek felt himself capable of working that morning. The ordinary course of their life had been interrupted; they did not know what to do with themselves. In the child's mind arose, now a thousand images of a brilliant, an unknown future, now regret for past days filled with so much happiness, and which would never return.
He tried to recall the features of his mother, those of his young father whom he had seen only in the dim twilight. Sometimes his heart leaned toward them; sometimes he trembled, agitated by a feeling of fear. What would become of him near them? Would he be better or worse than here? And in either case, he would be obliged to begin a new life, to leave his peaceful corner, go to a strange house, renounce all his old happiness, and bid adieu to what he had loved so well.
Iermola dreamed also; the new day had brought him new thoughts. According to his custom, he went to see the widow, as he always did when he felt in need of some one to talk to.
"Are you crazy?" cried the old woman as she saw him. "How could you yesterday evening have been so obstinate as to keep the child, just as if you had any sort of prospects for him? And besides, he is the son of a lord; he has his position already given him. And could it have done you any harm to go to the dwor with Radionek and live peacefully, enjoying his good fortune?"