30 May.

My whole day was poisoned, for Aniela has received another letter from Kromitzki.  I heard her telling my aunt that he does not know himself when he will be able to return,—­may be shortly, or it may be two months hence.  I cannot even imagine how I shall be able to bear his presence near Aniela.  At times it seems that I simply could not bear it.  I count upon some lucky chance that will prevent his coming back.  Chwastowski says Pani Celina ought to go to Gastein as soon as she can bear the journey.  Gastein is such a distance from Baku that it may be too far for Kromitzki to go.  I shall go there as sure as there is a heaven above us.  It is a happy thought of Chwastowski’s; the baths will do us all much good.  I too feel fagged and in want of bracing mountain air, and still more in want of being near Aniela.  To-morrow I shall go to Warsaw, and send a telegram to the manager of the bathing establishment to secure rooms for the ladies.  If no rooms are to be had, I am ready to buy a villa.  When Pani Celina spoke of the trouble and difficulties it would give Aniela were she to go there, I only said:  “Leave it all to me;” and then, in a lower voice, to Aniela:  “I will take care of her as if she were my own mother.”  I saw that Pani Celina, who believes less and less in Kromitzki’s millions, was afraid I might arrange things on too expensive a scale; but I have already settled it in my mind to show her a fictitious agreement, and take the greater part of the expenses upon myself.  Of course, I never mentioned that I intended going there myself.  I will arrange it so that the proposal shall come from my aunt.  I am quite sure that, as soon as I unfold my plans of going somewhere in the hills to recruit my health, the good soul will fall into the trap, and say:  “Why not go with them? it will be more comfortable for all of you.”  I know it will frighten Aniela, and in the most secret recess of her heart please her a little.  Maybe it will remind her of the poet’s line, “You are everywhere:  above me, around me, and within me.”  Then truly, my love will surround her as with an enchanted circle, enter her heart in the guise of thoughtfulness towards the mother,—­in the guise of little services she cannot refuse without exciting her mother’s suspicions; all this will gradually sink into her heart, in the guise of gratitude and pity for my sufferings, will thrust itself upon her with all the force of old memories.

She hears my praises sung by everybody:  by my aunt, who loves me blindly as she always did; by young Chwastowski, who, to show the impartiality people of his opinions are capable of, maintains I am an exception in the “rotten sphere.”  I have even won over Pani Celina by my attentions; she likes me now, and involuntarily, I dare say, regrets that I am not Aniela’s husband.  All around Aniela there is one great suggestion of love.

And you, dearest, are you going to resist all these powers?  When will you come and tell me:  “I cannot hold out any longer; take me,—­I love you”?