It was rather melancholy to come back, although the Castellanic Kochanowski, who accompanied us on horseback, tried his best to entertain me. The young man has been invited to Sulgostow, as a former comrade of the young Swidinski at Luneville, but he is much younger than they are. In society they call him a "charmer," and really he deserves the title; what then must be the duke, his master!
I have had no time yet to look about me in Maleszow, as we arrived late in the evening, and the first thing I did to-day was to begin to write, but I am sure it will seem very sad here for a time.
March 12.
I guessed right, it is desolate without my dearest sister; the castle seems void as if she had taken away all the life with her. My honored Parents also miss her very much, for she, as the eldest daughter, was more with them, and she was so clever! I try my best to take her place, but I know neither how to fill the Count's pipe as well as she did, nor to assort the colors for my honored Mother's embroidery. And then she was so thoughtful, never forgetting anything,—just the reverse of me. We talk of her constantly. To-day a chamberlain will be sent to Sulgostow with compliments and inquiries about my dear sister's health, and there was almost a fight among the young men, all of them wanted so much to go.
The Castellanic has departed, and for the last three days we have had no visitors but two begging friars from a neighboring convent.
I have laughed but once. My honored Mother had distributed all of Basia's dresses among our waiting-ladies and maids, and last Sunday, as by a tacit understanding, each of them appeared wearing a part of Basia's former attire: one had a skirt, another a cape or a waist, etc. Matenko looked around and sighed heavily. "What is the matter?" we asked. "I am grieved," he answered, "to see the property of the late Miss Barbara so scattered." We began to laugh, but were reproved by the Count, who quoted the old proverb: "Quiet at table as in church."
Something quite new and unexpected happened to me yesterday. When we came down at noon, I saw the Castellanic Kochanowski, who was standing with the Count in a window's embrasure, talking so eagerly that he did not see us entering. I could not hear their conversation, but my ear caught the last words, spoken with some emphasis by my honored Parent: "Yes, sir, you will soon hear about the final resolution." Having said this he whispered a word to my honored Mother, who made a sign to the marshal and gave him a secret order. The dinner was served, the Castellanic sat opposite to me, and then I observed how elegantly he was dressed,—a velvet coat all embroidered, a white satin waistcoat, lace frills at his shirt, lace ruffles, and a coiffure as fresh as from a bandbox. He never was so lively and brilliant, and he mixed such beautiful French with his Polish, and looked really charming. The dinner was longer than usual; we waited a while for the roast, and when they brought it in, I saw my Castellanic changing his color and growing pale. I looked at the dishes; I saw a goose with black gravy, [11] and then I guessed all.
I did not dare to lift my eyes; queer thoughts were whirling in my head. I remembered the lively cracoviaks and graceful minuets, the elegant seat on horseback, the fine French conversation, the beautiful compliments, and I felt a pang in my heart. I had not the courage to touch the dish; my honored Parents refused it also, and but for the end of the table the dishes would have been untouched. Matenko was the first to help himself, and looking at his plate said aloud: "Well, it is rather a hard morsel, but still, it will be digested." I thought that was disagreeable of him.
It seemed to me that we stayed ages at table. Finally the Count gave the sign to rise, and as we were saying our "benedicite" I saw the Castellanic stealing away, and he did not appear again.
When the courtiers had withdrawn, my honored Parents called me from my work, and the Count spoke thus: "Mademoiselle, to-day the Castellanic Kochanowski asked for your hand. Although his lineage is noble and ancient, and his fortune considerable, nevertheless we did not think it was a suitable match. First, the Castellanic is very young; he has no position of his own, and is called only by the title of his deceased father; secondly, he did not set about the matter in the proper way. He asked no notable person to speak for him,—he came by himself, made his declaration at once, and wanted an immediate reply, which he received unreservedly. We do not doubt, Frances, that you are of the same opinion." Having said this, without waiting for my answer, he bade me return to my work.