fro in her own room, in order to keep awake; but so softly that I could not have known it but for the shadow moving on the wall, which I saw through the open door.  Once, when she was near me, not knowing how to express my gratitude, I raised her hand to my lips; she stooped down quickly, and, before I could prevent it, kissed my hand.  But I must confess that I was not always so grateful.  Sick people as a rule are fanciful and irritable; I felt irritated at her being so tall.  I felt a kind of resentment that she was not like Aniela; for so long a time I had been in the habit of acknowledging grace and beauty only in so far as they approached the grace and beauty of that other one.

Sometimes, looking at Clara, I irritated myself inwardly by the most singular thought that she is beautiful, not because nature meant her to be beautiful,—­not by right of her race,—­but by a fortunate accident of birth.  Sometimes other beautiful feminine heads made upon me the same impression.  These are subtle shades which only very delicate and sensitive nerves can perceive.

There were moments, especially at night, when, looking at Clara’s face grown thin and tired with watching me, I had a delusion that I saw the other one.  This happened when she was sitting in the half-light, a certain distance from my bed.  This delusion was fostered by fever and a sick brain, for which impossibilities do not exist.  Sometimes my mind wandered and I called Clara by that other’s name, spoke to her as if she were Aniela.  I remember it as if in a dream.

17 October.

The banker B. sent me some letters written by my aunt.  She asks me about my plans for the future.  She writes even about the crops, but nothing about the inmates of Ploszow.  I do not even know whether they be alive or dead.  What an irritating way of writing letters.  What do I care about the crops, and about the whole estate?  I replied at once, and could not disguise my displeasure.

18 October.

To-day I received a telegram from Kromitzki addressed to Warsaw.  My aunt, instead of sending its contents in another telegram, put it into an envelope, and sent it by post.  Kromitzki entreats me to save my own money and his whole future by sending him another twenty-five thousand roubles.  Beading this I merely shrugged my shoulders.  What do I care now for Kromitzki or my money?  Let it go with the rest!  If he only knew the reason I helped him the first time, he would not ask me now.  Let him bear his losses as quietly as I bear mine.  Moreover, there is awaiting him the “great news;” that ought to comfort him.  Rejoice as much as you can; have as many children as you like; but if you think I am going to provide for their future, you ask a little too much.

If at least she had not sacrificed me with such inconsiderate egoism to her so-called “principles.”  But enough of this; my brain cannot stand it,—­let me at least be ill in peace.