bye, there is nowhere in Europe such a breadth of atmosphere as in Poland.  What struck me most of all was the distinctly Sunday character of the day, not in the people alone, but also in nature.  It is true the weather was splendid, but it seemed as if the wind were hushed because it was Sunday; even the corn did not rock, not a leaf shook on the poplars, the stillness was perfect; yet there was the cheerfulness of the Sunday in the festive garments, and in the dancing sunbeams.

I explained to Aniela how, from an artistic point of view, those bright spots harmonized with the landscape and melted in the distance into a blue haze.  Then we began to talk about the peasants.  I confessed that I did not see anything but a crowd of more or less picturesque models; but Aniela looks at them from a quite different point of view.  She began telling me many characteristic traits, some sad, and some amusing, and while talking grew very animated, and at the same time as lovely as a summer’s dream.

The conversation again drifted towards the old couple we had left sitting under the church gate, and especially the old woman, whose reasoning had amused us so much.  I began comparing her position to my own.  As my aunt remained with Pani Celina, whom the servant wheeled along at a certain distance behind, I could with freedom allude to our last conversation in the park.

“Not long ago,” I said, “I asked you for alms, and you bestowed them on me.  I see now that this does not bind me to anything, and I may again hold out my wooden platter at the church gate.”

“Eh! to ask other charitable souls for the same,” replied Aniela.  “Aunty is going to invite one charitable soul to Ploszow, I understand.”

“If it is Miss Hilst you mean, she is too big to find room in a single heart; it wants three at least to hold her,” but Aniela did not leave off teasing, and shaking her little finger at me, said:—­

“It is a suspicious case, very suspicious.”

“At present there is no ground for suspicion,” I replied.  “My heart is a repository of brotherly feelings, and there reigns supreme the spiteful little being who is tormenting me at present.”

Aniela ceased laughing and jesting, slackened her pace, and presently we joined the elder ladies.  The remainder of the day passed without a cloud, and so pleasantly that at times I fancied myself again a schoolboy.  My eyes still spoke to her of love; but my desires slept.  My aunt went to Warsaw after lunch, and I remained in Pani Celina’s room, reading to her Montalembert’s letters, with whom my father at one time had a regular correspondence.  These letters would have seemed very tedious to me but for Aniela’s presence.  Raising my eyes now and then, I met her glance, which filled me with inexpressible joy.  Unless I have lost all power of judgment, she looks at me as would look a pure, innocent woman, unconsciously loving with all her soul.  What a good day it has been!