“‘Oh, but I am in fear, in such fear of you,’ he said, smiling, kneeling down before me, and clasping his hand—so! You know the gesture well; it is almost the embodiment of childlike humility.
“‘Oh, what?’
“‘I want you to promise you will not be angry with me.’
“I was suddenly torn with a sharp misgiving.
“‘No, do not tell me, Witold,’ I whispered.
“But he was unable to conceal anything from me. All he said in excuse was that I ought to pardon everything, by reason of his great love; that no woman could ever snatch from me the place which I held in his heart. That he had not been truly unfaithful, since his true and only love had always been with me; I was the only woman that his soul loved, and not his senses.... It is ever the same: stretch out your hands for life, and Death will come to you!”
“And what did you do?”
“In the first moments I did not understand all. He again and again said he loved me a hundred times more than ever before; I was the only woman, so pure, so ideal ... and I could not make out what he meant. But my hands, when touched by his lips, grew cold as ice.
“He was frightened, and tried to soothe me; said he would never do it any more; it was not properly his fault, he had been overtaken with wine: and besides, she—she was indeed most beautiful.
“At the bare memory, I saw his eyes flash bright. Oh, he is a connoisseur in women!