at Ploszow, and so on, ad infinitum.  I am heartily sick of it.  In the mean while it is this way:  I cannot take them with me to Turkestan, and when I am there it is all the same to me whether they are at Odessa or at Warsaw.  When I wind up my affairs, with a more than considerable fortune, I hope I shall give them, of course, an adequate home.  That will take place in a year at the latest.  The sale of the business itself will bring in a considerable sum.  If they were not at Ploszow, I should have to look out for some other place; but since your aunt offers her house and is pleased to have them, it would be folly not to accept the offer.  My mother-in-law has only just recovered from her illness.  Who knows what might happen in the future? and if things went wrong, Aniela, young and inexperienced as she is, would be alone with all these troubles.  I simply cannot remain with them; even now I am in a fever to be off, and only delayed my departure in the hope that I might persuade you or your aunt into a partnership.  Now I have told you all that is in my mind; and it is your turn to tell me whether I may count upon your good-will.”

I breathed again.  Aniela’s scheme was reduced to nothing.  I was delighted because I had got what I wanted.  Although my love for Aniela was akin to deep hatred, it was all I had to live for, and it wanted food; and this it would get only from Aniela’s presence.  From Kromitzki’s words I concluded that by one stroke I could gain the most wished for end,—­Kromitzki’s departure for an almost unlimited time.  I remained impassive, and thought it more advisable to show myself a little reluctant.

“I cannot,” I said, “give you any promise beforehand.  Tell me first exactly how you stand.”

He began to talk, and talked with great volubility, showing that once embarked upon this theme, he felt himself in his proper element.  Now and then he paused to buttonhole me or press me against the rocks.  When he had said something he thought very convincing, he swiftly screwed his eyeglass into his eye and scrutinized my face to see what impression he had made upon me.  This, added to his voice, which was like the sound of creaking hinges, and the reiteration of his “what, what,” was very trying to my nerves, but I must render him justice; he did not try to deceive me.  He told me substantially the same things that I had heard from Chwastowski.  The affair stood thus:  Great capital had already been invested in material, the purveying of which was solely in Kromitzki’s hands.  The danger of the business consisted in the fact that the capital already sunk came back to him only after passing through various official forms, therefore very slowly; and also in the fact that Kromitzki had to deal with purveyors whose interest it was to supply him with the very worst materials, for which he was held responsible.  This last point put him more or less at the mercy of the agency, which besides had the most complete right to accept only good material.  Who knows what complications might arise from that?  After having listened to his statement, which lasted an hour, I replied:—­