Children of the Soil. Генрик Сенкевич
approached them and asked, “What dost thou say?”
“I will say Tu felix, Mashko, nube!” (Thou, Mashko, art fortunate in marriage!)
Then all began to offer congratulations, which he received with full weight of dignity; at the end he said, —
“My dear friends, I thank you from my whole heart; and, since ye all know my betrothed, I have no doubt of the sincerity of your wishes.”
“Do not permit thyself one,” said Bukatski.
“But Kremen came to thee in season,” interjected Pan Stanislav.
Indeed, Kremen had come to Mashko in season, for without it he might not have been accepted. But for that very cause the remark was not agreeable; hence he made a wry face, and answered, —
“Thou didst make that purchase easy; sometimes I am thankful to thee, and sometimes I curse thee.”
“Why so?”
“For thy dear Uncle Plavitski is the most annoying, the most unendurable figure on earth, omitting thy cousin, who is a charming young lady; but from morning till evening she rings changes on her never to be sufficiently regretted Kremen, through all the seven notes, adding at each one a tear. Thou art seldom at their house; but, believe me, to be there is uncommonly wearisome.”
Pan Stanislav looked into his eyes and answered, “Listen, Mashko: against my uncle I have said everything that could hit him; but it does not follow, therefore, that I am to listen patiently if another attacks Plavitski, especially a man who has made profit by him. As to Panna Marynia, she is sorry, I know, for Kremen; but this proves that she is not an empty puppet, or a manikin, but a woman with a heart; dost understand me?”
A moment of silence followed. Mashko understood perfectly whom Pan Stanislav had in mind when he mentioned the empty doll and manikin; hence the freckles on his face became brick-colored, and his lips began to quiver. But he restrained himself. He was in no sense a coward; but even the man who is most daring has usually some one with whom he has no wish to quarrel, and for Mashko Polanyetski was such a one. Therefore, shrugging his shoulders, he said, —
“Why art thou angry? If that is unpleasing to thee – ”
But Pan Stanislav interrupted, “I am not angry; but I advise thee to remember my words.” And he looked him in the eyes again.
Mashko thought, “If thou wilt have an adventure anyhow, thou canst have it.”
“Thy words,” said he, “I can remember; only do thou take counsel also from me. Permit not thyself to speak in that tone to me, else I might forget myself also, and call thee to reckoning.”
“What the deuce – ?” began Bukatski. “What is the matter with thee?”
But Pan Stanislav, in whom irritation against Mashko has been gathering for a long time, would beyond doubt have pushed matters to extremes had not Pani Emilia’s servant rushed into the room at that moment.
“I beg,” said he, with a panting voice; “the little lady is dying!”
Pan Stanislav grew pale, and, seizing his hat, sprang to the door. A long, dull silence followed, which Mashko interrupted at last.
“I forgot,” said he, “that everything should be forgiven him at present.”
Vaskovski, covering his eyes with his hands, began to pray. At length he raised his head and said, —
“God alone has bridled death, and has power to restrain it.”
A quarter of an hour later, Bigiel received a note from his wife with the words, “The attack has passed.”
CHAPTER XVIII
Pan Stanislav hurried to Pani Emilia’s, fearing that he would not find Litka living; for the servant told him on the way that the little lady was in convulsions, and dying. But when he arrived, Pani Emilia ran to meet him, and from the depth of her breast threw out in one breath the words, “Better! better!”
“Is the doctor here?”
“He is.”
“But the little one?”
“Is sleeping.”
On the face of Pani Emilia the remnants of fear were struggling with hope and joy. Pan Stanislav noticed that her lips were almost white, her eyes dry and red, her face in blotches; she was mortally wearied, for she had not slept for twenty-four hours. But the doctor, a young man, and energetic, looked on the danger as passed for the time. Pani Emilia was strengthened by what he told her in presence of Pan Stanislav, especially this: “We should not let it come to a second attack, and we will not.”
There was real consolation in these words, for evidently the doctor considered that they were able to ward off another attack; still there was a warning that another attack might be fatal. But Pani Emilia grasped at every hope, as a man falling over a precipice grasps at the branches of trees growing out on the edge of it.
“We will not; we will not!” repeated she, pressing the doctor’s hand feverishly.
Pan Stanislav looked into his eyes unobserved, wishing to read in them whether he said this to pacify the mother, or on the basis of medical conviction, and asked as a test, —
“You will not leave her to-day?”
“I do not see the least need of staying,” answered he. “The child is exhausted, and is like to sleep long and soundly. I will come to-morrow, but to-day I can go with perfect safety.” Then he turned to Pani Emilia, —
“You must rest, too. All danger has passed; the patient should not see on your face any suffering or alarm, for she might be disturbed, and she is too weak to endure that.”
“I could not fall asleep,” said Pani Emilia.
The doctor turned his pale blue eyes to her, and, gazing into her face with a certain intensity, said slowly, —
“In an hour you will lie down, and will fall asleep directly; you will sleep unbrokenly for six or eight hours, – let us say eight. To-morrow you will be strong and refreshed. And now good-night.”
“But drops to the little one, if she wakes?” asked Pani Emilia.
“Another will give the drops; you will sleep. Good-night.” And he took farewell.
Pan Stanislav wished to follow him to inquire alone about Litka, but he thought that a longer talk of that kind might alarm Pani Emilia; hence he preferred to omit it, promising himself that in the morning he would go to the doctor’s house and talk there with him. After a while, when he was alone with Pani Emilia, he said, —
“Do as the doctor directed; you need rest. I promise to go to Litka’s room now, and I will not leave her the whole night.”
But Pani Emilia’s thoughts were all with the little girl; so, instead of an answer, she said to him directly, —
“Do you know, after the attack, she asked several times for you before she fell asleep. And for Marynia too. She fell asleep with the question, ‘Where is Pan Stas?’”
“My poor beloved child, I should have come anyhow right after dinner. I flew here barely alive. When did the attack begin?”
“In the forenoon. From the morning she was gloomy, as if foreboding something. You know that in my presence she says always that she is well; but she must have felt ill, for before the attack she sat near me and begged me to hold her hand. Yesterday, I forgot to tell you that she put such strange questions to me: ‘Is it true,’ inquired she, ‘that if a sick child asks for a thing it is never refused?’ I answered that it is not refused unless the child asks for something impossible. Some idea was passing through her head evidently, for in the evening, when Marynia ran in for a moment, she put like questions to us. She went to sleep in good humor, but this morning early she complained of stifling. It is lucky that I sent for the doctor before the attack, and that he came promptly.”
“It is the greatest luck that he went away with such certainty that the attack would