He raised his cap, and pointing with it at Naughty Boy, replied in the purest, not London, but Bursany, dialect:—­

“Bedom prosz jasnie hrabiego widzieli, ale ino jegozad.” (They will see him, my lord, but only his hind-quarters.)

We sat down to a hurried lunch; nevertheless my aunt had time to read what the papers had to say about the future museum.  It is strange how sensitive women are to public applause for their nearest mankind.  My aunt fairly beamed at me through her spectacles, and was incomparable when she now and then, interrupting the reading, glanced keenly at Aniela, and then said in her most dogmatic tone:—­

“They do not exaggerate the least bit.  He was always like that.”

Praise heaven there was not another sceptic mind present, otherwise I should have looked foolish indeed.

It was time for the ladies to dress.  Before leaving the room my aunt turned to me and said with the most innocent expression of face:—­

“We must be quick, for I promised to call for Panna Zawilowski; she was going with her father, but as he is suffering from an attack of gout I shall have to chaperon her.”

With this she went to her room.  We looked at each other, Aniela and I; the corners of her mouth twitched with merriment.  “Aniela, it is a new matrimonial scheme, what shall I do?” She put a finger to her lips in warning that I spoke too loud, and disappeared within her room; presently the lovely head peeped out through the half-open door.

“I just remembered you have not asked Miss Hilst,” she said.

“No, I have not asked her.”

“Why?”

“Because I love her on the sly,” I retorted, laughing.

“Seriously, why did you not invite her?”

“If you wish I will invite her now.”

“It is as you wish,” she replied, and disappeared again.

But I preferred not to invite Miss Hilst.

An hour later we were driving in the Belvederski Avenue.  Aniela wore a cream-colored dress trimmed with lace.  I have such a knack of saying with my eyes what my lips must not utter, that Aniela read in them my rapture.  I recognized it in her face, that looked half-pleased, half-vexed.  We stopped on the way before the Zawilowski villa, and before I had time to ring, the door opened, and Panna Zawilowska herself came out.  She stood before me a vision in silver gray, rather a cold vision, as she barely nodded to me before going to my aunt.  She is rather plain than pretty,—­a blond with steely blue eyes and studied manners.  She is considered a very pattern of distinction, and with good reason; that is, if distinction means the same as stiffness.  Her treatment of me is as cold as her eyes, too cold even to be quite natural.  If this is a method adopted on purpose to chafe my vanity, it is very foolish, for it only bores me, and does not provoke me in the least.  I am rather glad of it, as it permits me to pay her only such attentions as simple politeness exacts.