something for Aniela; she said it with a certain hesitation, almost humbly, as she considers everything ought to go to a Ploszowski, and that to leave anything to another would be a wrong to the family.  How little she knows me!  If Aniela were in want of a pair of shoes and I had to sell Ploszow and give all I possess, she should have them.  I might be prompted by a less noble motive,—­for instance, to appear different from a Kromitzki,—­but from whatever motive, I should give it certainly.  But there is no question of that now.  I am thinking continually that she is living at Ploszow, and will remain there as long as Kromitzki’s journeys last, which may be God only knows for how long.  I shall see Pani Kromitzka every day.  At the thought of this I feel a certain uneasiness, with a strong admixture of curiosity as to our future relations towards each other; and I clearly see what might happen if my disposition and feelings in regard to her were different.  I never lie to myself; I repeat again that I am going there in order to cure myself, that I do not love Pani Kromitzka, and never will love her; that on the contrary, I am in hope that the sight of her will drive Aniela out of my heart far more successfully than all the fiords and geysers; but I would not be myself, the man who has lived much and thought much, if I did not see the danger which under other circumstances such a position might bring forth.

If I wanted to revenge myself, if the very name Pani Kromitzka did not excite my loathing, what could stand in my way or hinder me,—­in quiet Ploszow, where would be we two only, and the elder ladies, as unsuspicious and unsophisticated in their stainless virtue as any babies?  In regard to this I know my aunt and Pani Celina.  In the higher spheres of society one meets sometimes women thoroughly corrupted; but there are many, especially among the older generation, who pass through life like angels, with no thought of evil ever coming near them.  Neither my aunt nor Pani Celina would ever dream of any danger threatening Aniela now she is married.  Aniela herself belongs to that kind.  She would not have rejected my prayers had she not given her word to Kromitzki.  But Polish women of this kind would rather break a heart than break their word.  At the very thought of it a dull wrath seizes me.  I crush down within me the desire every one has to prove the truth of his opinion.  I do not want to argue at all with Pani Kromitzka, but if somebody else would do it,—­point out to women like her that the laws of nature, laws of affection, cannot be broken with impunity, that they are stronger than any ethic laws, I should be glad of it.  It is true I have sinned in regard to Aniela, but I wished to make amendment from the very depth of my heart, and she rejected me,—­rejected me perhaps so as to be able to say to herself:  “I am not a Leon Ploszowski; I have given a promise, and do not take it back.”  This is not virtue, it is want of heart; it is not heroism,