me how my aunt was, whether Aniela was at the races, how the ladies would manage their journey to Gastein since Pani Celina could not walk, whether I thought Naughty Boy would win the race, and what we would do if he lost, and how many people had I invited to dinner.  While standing near her carriage I noticed what a sweet expression her face has, and the pretty foot that peeped forth from the carriage; but as to answering all the questions, I should have to borrow Gargantua’s mouth, as Shakspeare says.  Replying to one or two of the questions and saying I hoped to see her after the races, I followed Sniatynski’s track in search of Clara.  I found her carriage not far from my aunt’s.  Clara looked like a hill covered with heliotrope blossoms.  I found her surrounded by a host of admirers and artists, conversing gayly with them.  Her face clouded when she saw me, and my reception was of the coolest.  A friendly word from me would have changed all that, but I remained cold; after a quarter of an hour’s polite and ceremonious conversation, I went farther, exchanging here and there a few words with people I knew, and then turned toward our own carriage.  The first two races had taken place, and Naughty Boy’s turn came at last.

I looked at my aunt; the expression of her face was very solemn; she evidently tried her best to keep cool.  On the contrary, Aniela’s face showed evident uneasiness.  We had to wait some time before the horses came out, because the weighing lasted unusually long.  Suddenly Sniatynski came running up, gesticulating with both hands, and showing some bits of paper.

“I have put a pot of money on Naughty Boy,” he exclaimed; “if he betrays me, I shall have to throw myself upon your well-known charity.”

“I trust—­” began my aunt, with all her dignity.

But she did not finish her sentence, as at this moment from amid the dark mass of people there rose the varicolored caps and silks of the jockeys.  The horses were slowly trotting along.  Some of them, finding themselves in the open, quickened their pace; others followed more leisurely.  At the start they passed us in a group and not very fast, so as to save their horses’ strength, the race being a double one.  But at the second turn they were drawn out in a line.  It looked as if the wind had scattered the petals of some flowers along the road.  The first was a jockey in white, closely followed by another in pale blue and red, then two together, one in red, the other in red and yellow; our Kuba in orange and black was last but one, followed by a jockey in white and blue.  This order did not last long.  When the horses had reached the other side of the course, there arose some commotion in the carriages.  The more excited ladies climbed up on the seats so as not to lose the least part of the race; their example was followed by my aunt, who evidently could not sit still any longer.

Aniela offered her place to Panna Zawilowska, who, after some ceremonious protests, accepted it; and I helped Aniela to the back seat, and, as she had nothing to hold on by, offered her my hand.  I confess that I did not think of the race so much as of the dear little hand that rested so trustingly in mine.