The old lady was simply magnificent when, with her head thrown back, she seemed to defy the black and copper-colored banks of clouds, and shook at them her Loreto bell.  I did not regret having gone with her, if only to see a symbolic picture.  At a moment when everything trembles before the approaching horror, crouches in terror almost stupefied, faith alone has no fear; it defies, and rings a bell.  This is, from whatever side we look at it, an element of incalculable power in the human soul.

We returned when the first thunder began to growl all around the horizon.  A few minutes later the roar became incessant.  I had a sensation as if the thunder rolled on the lower stratum of the clouds, and the whole mass would burst at any moment and come with a deafening crash upon the earth.  A thunderbolt fell into the pond at the other end of the park, followed by another so close by that the house shook on its foundations.  My ladies began to say the Litany; I felt uncertain what to do; if I joined them it would be hypocrisy on my part, and if I did not it would look as if I were showing myself off as an ill-bred wiseacre, who cannot make allowance for country customs and female terrors.  But I was wrong; they were not afraid; their faces were calm, even serene.  It was evident that the familiar Litany was to them a sufficient armor against all dangers, and that there was no fear in their hearts.  The thought crossed my mind what a stranger in spirit I was in presence of these Polish women, of whom each knows ten times less than I, and according to human measure, is worth ten times as much as I. They are like books of comparatively few pages, each page containing clear and simple rules, whereas I, with all those volumes of which I am composed, do not possess a single undoubted truth.

It was but a passing thought, as presently the storm that broke upon us with terrific force engaged all my attention.  The wind rose again, crashing among the trees.  It fell at moments, and then the rain came down in streams; no drops were visible, but long spouts that seemed to join sky and earth.  The avenues in the park were like foaming brooks.  Sometimes a strong gust of wind whipped the water into a fine spray that hung between earth and sky and obscured the whole view.  The deafening roar of thunder went on incessantly.  The air was saturated with electricity.  My pulses were beating loudly; in the rooms an irritating smell of sulphur made itself felt.  The raging elements without seemed to influence me in a strange way, and I began to lose control over myself.

“Do you want to see the storm?” I asked Aniela.

“Very well.  Where from?”

“Come into the next room, there is a larger window.”

We went and stood at the window.  It was very dark then, and every moment white and red forks of lightning tore across the clouds, opening the skies and at the same time illuminating our faces and the dark world without.  Aniela was calm, but seemed every moment more desirable.