but now it appears that my horizon gets narrower than ever, and doubts arise within me that might be compressed in the query:  “What have you gained?” I try to chase the thoughts away.  I have gained something.  I have gained the sight of a bright and happy face; I have gained the smile; I have gained the delight of seeing her limpid eyes look fearlessly into mine.  If I feel cramped and not quite at home in the new house, the reason is that I have not got used to it.  Besides, formerly I was without a roof to shelter me; and if I cannot always see clearly what I have gained, I know perfectly well that I have lost nothing.  I shall never forget that.

14 August.

My aunt begins to talk about going home.  She is pining after her beloved Ploszow.  I asked Aniela if she would like to go.  She said she would; therefore I too am anxious to return.  Formerly I attached some vague, undefined hope to a change of place.  Now I expect nothing; but at Ploszow there are so many pleasant memories that I shall be glad to see the place again.

16 August.

The days flow now very evenly.  I think much and I rest.  My thoughts are often sad, at times not without bitterness, but my soul was so weary that I find this restfulness very soothing.  It makes me feel conscious how much better off I am than I used to be.  I am mostly with Aniela; we read together, and then discuss what we have read.  Everything I say to her is only a definition, a development of love; everything tends in that direction; but strange to say I notice that now I never speak of it directly, as if that feminine objection to calling things by their proper names had also infected me.  I do not know why this is so, but it is a fact.  And it grieves me,—­sometimes grieves me very much; and it pleases me, because I see that Aniela is pleased, and what is more, loves me for it.  In order to cement the union of our souls, I have begun to speak much about myself so as not to have any secrets from her.  I am reticent only about such things as might offend her delicacy of feeling or the purity of her thoughts.  I tried to initiate her into the workings of a spirit undermined by scepticism and the want of a basis in life.  I told her openly that I had nothing to live for except her; told her also what was going on within me after her marriage, what shocks had passed through my heart and brain since my return to Ploszow; I spoke of this all the more eagerly, as it was like a series of confessions, as it all meant:  “I loved you then, as I love you now, beyond expression.”  She was deceived as to the meaning of these confidences and listened to them as if there had been no question about her, with emotion, sympathy, and possibly unconscious delight.  I saw tears gathering in her eyes, her breast heaved as if her whole spiritual being went out to me with open arms saying:  “Come to me; you have suffered enough and deserve some happiness.”  And I reply with my eyes:  “I do not ask, do not remind you of anything; I am altogether at your mercy.”