Warsaw, 31 May.

Pani L., the patroness of a charitable institution, asked Clara to give another concert for the benefit of the destitute.  Clara refused on the plea that she is busy upon a great musical work that engages all her attention.  The letter,—­a very pattern of polite refusal,—­was accompanied by exactly the same sum of money the first concert had brought in.  It is easy to imagine what a sensation this act of generosity made in Warsaw.  The papers were full of it, raising the musician and her generosity to the sky.  Naturally, her private means, which are considerable, gained in dimensions.  I do not know how society came to couple our names; perhaps, our acquaintance, dating from a long time, our intimacy, and the exaggerated news of her wealth gave rise to the rumor.  I was at first a little angry on hearing this; but upon maturer reflection, resolved not to give any direct denial, because this puts my attentions towards Aniela beyond all suspicion.

When I went to Clara’s morning reception, Pani Korytzka came up to me, and, with that witty, aggressive air of hers, asked me in presence of some dozen people from the musical world and Warsaw society, in an audible voice,—­

“Tell me, cousin, who was that mythological person that could not resist the Siren?”

“Nobody resisted, ma cousine, except Ulysses; and he only because he was tied to the mast.”

“And why have you not taken these precautions?”

I saw some covert smiles lurking in the faces of those who witnessed the attack, and I retorted,—­

“Sometimes even that is of no use.  You know that love sunders the strongest ties.”

In spite of all her self-possession, Pani Korytzka grew confused, and I gained one of those tiny victories which are comprised in the proverb, “The scythe hit upon a stone,” or in plain English, “The biter bit.”

Whether people repeat to each other that I am going to marry Clara or not, does not trouble me in the least; in fact, for the above stated reason I do not mind it at all; but I did not expect that this visit would turn out so unpleasant, and Clara herself be the cause of it.  When all the people had left, and only Sniatynski and I remained, she sat down to the piano, and played her new concerto,—­played it so magnificently that we could not find words to express our admiration; repeating at our request the finale, she said, suddenly,—­

“This is my farewell, because everything comes to a finale.”

“Surely you are not thinking of leaving us?” asked Sniatynski.

“Yes, in ten days at the furthest I must be at Frankfurt,” replied Clara.

Thereupon Sniatynski turned to me,—­

“And what do you say to that,—­you who at Ploszow gave us to understand, made us hope, Miss Hilst would remain with us always?”

“Yes; and I say the same now:  her memory will always remain with us.”

“Yes; I understood it so,” replied Clara, with naive resignation.