"We shall all come to this if they go on keeping us at work till midnight," cried another.
Curses and threats were uttered here and there. But the old giant held his head erect, put his hands in his pockets, and passed through the thickest crowd. Only he half closed his eyes and was pale down to his neck. He did not seem to hear what those on the edge of the crowd were saying, and those near him gave way, guessing instinctively that this man was afraid neither of curses nor even of an open attack.
Towards evening Gosławski, whom the doctor had not left for a moment, called for his wife. She came in on tiptoe, staggering and keeping back the tears that dimmed her eyes. The wounded man looked strangely haggard, and his eyes were fixed. In the dusk his face seemed to have the colour of earth.
"Where are you, Magdzia?" he asked indistinctly, and then said, with long pauses: "Nothing will come of our workshop now ... I have no arm ... I am going to follow after it ... why should I eat my bread for nothing?"
His wife began to sob.
"Are you there, Magdzia?... Remember the children. The money for my funeral is in the drawer—you know.... What a lot of flies there are ... such a buzzing...."
He began to toss about restlessly, and breathed heavily, like a man going off into a deep sleep. The doctor made a sign, and somebody took the wife away almost by force and led her into the friendly neighbour's cottage. In a few minutes the doctor followed her there; the poor woman looked into his eyes and knelt down on the floor weeping bitterly.
"Oh, sir, why have you left him? Is he so ill? Perhaps——"
"The Lord will comfort you," said the doctor.
The women crowded round to try and quiet her.