“But we can at any rate respect the poetry which religion contains, and the feelings of those who have not as yet lost their faith: is it not so?”
“Certainly,” I replied with the utmost gravity.
“Well, the Bible which I could not go to sleep without reading, and out of which I read portions daily instead of my prayers, is that book of legends by Voragine.... Do you know it?”
“Oh, yes,” I assented, “the Golden Legend.”
“Oh, what a world of poetry there is in it! What treasures of freshness and simplicity of feeling!”
“Well, I say! if they are all of her kidney!” was all I remarked to Mme. Wildenhoff, as I returned with her after our half-hour’s call at Wieloleski’s. I felt a good deal bored, and mused over the meaning of the well-known aphorism:
Dans la bête assouvie un ange se réveille.[[1]]
[1]. When the brute’s gorged, an angel wakes within it.
For some time Imszanski has been spending his evenings at home! He either goes out later in the evening, or not at all, and Martha’s hopes are reviving within her; but I do not take this conversion of his very seriously.
We three sit together frequently; now and then Czolhanski and Owinski, or Rosuchowski drop in.