4 June.

I went to-day to invite the Sniatynskis and several other people to dinner.  Sniatynski has spread the news of my founding a museum for the public, and I am at present the hero of the day.  All the papers write about it, improving the occasion as usual by pitching into those that waste their substance abroad instead of doing good to the country.  I know their style so well, and it amuses me.  There are the usual phrases about a citizen’s duties and “noblesse oblige,” but it suits my purpose.  I gathered the whole packet to show my aunt and Aniela.

5 June.

The races have been fixed a day sooner because of to-morrow’s holiday.  Aniela and my aunt arrived this morning with a maid and sundry boxes containing their racing toilets.  The first glance at Aniela filled me with terror.  She does not look well at all; her face is wan and has lost its former warm color; it seems smaller too, and there is something misty about her that reminds me of Puvis de Chawannes’ figures.  My aunt and her mother do not notice it, because they see her every day; but to me, after the absence of a few days, the change is very remarkable.  I am seized with contrition and sincere pity.  It is evident that the inward struggle is telling upon her.  If she would only end it, and follow the dictates of a heart that is mine,—­a hundred times mine and pleads for me,—­all her troubles would cease and happiness begin.  I am getting deeper and deeper into the quicksands.  It seemed to me that I knew her so well; every detail and every feature stands out before my eyes when I do not see her, and yet when I meet her, after a few days’ absence, I discover a new charm, and find something new I like in her.  How she satisfies my every taste, and I am deeply conscious that she is my type,—­my only affinity.  This consciousness gives me a belief, half mystic, half approaching the natural hypothesis, that she was meant for me.  When hearing the sound of wheels, I ran down to meet her, and again had the sensation one might call falling under the spell; again the reality seemed to me more perfect than the picture I carry in my heart.  She was dressed in a dust-cloak of Chinese silk; a long gray veil was twisted round her hat and tied under her chin, and from amid that frame the dear face, always more like a girl’s than a married woman’s, smiled at me.  Her greeting was more cheerful and more frank than usual; it was evident the morning drive and the prospect of a little pleasure had brightened her spirits; this filled me with delight.  I thought, “She is glad to see me again, and Ploszow appears to her dull and empty without me.”  I offered one arm to my aunt and the other to Aniela, as the staircase is wide enough for three persons, and led them upstairs.  At the sight of all the plants and flowers she uttered a little cry of wonder.

“It is my surprise,” I said.

I pressed her arm slightly, so slightly that it might have passed for an accidental movement, and then turning to my aunt, said:—­