Grzesikiewicz hesitated in confusion and became even sadder.
"No. He neither said anything about it, nor gave me a letter for you," he answered, lowering his voice.
"So that is how much he loves me and how greatly he longs to see me?
Ha! ha! ha!" she laughed harshly.
"Don't you know him yet? He will die of thirst rather than beg a glass of water. When I was leaving and told him where I was going, he did not say a word, but looked at me in such a way and gripped my hand so firmly that I understood him entirely. . . ."
"No, you did not understand him at all. My father is not at all concerned about me; he is only concerned over the fact that the whole neighborhood must be speaking about my departure and my joining the theater. . . . Surely, Krenska must have left no stone unturned. . . . He is concerned only about the gossip that is circulating. He feels disgraced through me. He would like to see me broken and begging forgiveness at his feet. That is what he is anxious about!"
"You do not know him! Such hearts . . ."
Janina hastily interrupted him: "Let us not speak of hearts where on one side they do not at all enter into the question, where they are entirely lacking and there is only an insane . . ."
"So then? . . ." he asked rising, for he was choking with a spasm of anger.
The bell in the hall rang sharply, evidently pulled violently by someone.
"I will never return," said Janina with final determination.