To my aunt it will be a disappointment; it will hurt her family pride and patriotic feelings.  Yet, if my aunt could but know what has been lately going on in my heart, she would prefer this matrimonial scheme to that other love; I have not the slightest doubt as to that.  What does it matter that Clara’s ancestors were most probably weavers?  I have no prejudices; I have only nerves.  Any casual view I take tends rather towards liberalism.  Sometimes I fancy that people professing to be liberals are more narrow in their views than conservatives; but, on the other hand, liberalism itself is resting on a larger basis than conservatism, and more in accord with Christ’s teachings; but I am wholly indifferent to both parties.  It is scarcely worth speaking or reasoning about them.  Real unhappiness shows us the emptiness of mere partisan hair-splittings.  Involuntarily I fall to thinking, “How will Aniela receive the news of my resolve?” I have been so accustomed to feel through her that the painful habit still clings to me.

22 October.

This morning I sent the letter to Clara.  To-morrow I shall have a reply, or perhaps Clara herself will come tonight.  In the afternoon they sent me a second despatch from Kromitzki.  It expresses as much despair as a few words can contain.  Things seem to have turned out very badly, indeed; even I did not think ruin would come so quickly.  Some unexpected circumstances must have intervened that even Kromitzki could not have foreseen.  The loss I incur does not make a great difference to me; I shall always be what I was,—­but Kromitzki?  Why should I deceive myself?  There lurks somewhere in a corner of my heart a certain satisfaction at his ruin,—­if only for the reason that these two will be now entirely dependent on us; that is, upon my aunt, who is the administrator of the Ploszow estate, and myself.  In the mean while I do not intend to reply at all.  If I changed my intention it would be to send him my congratulation at the expected family increase.  Later on it will be different.  I will secure their future; they shall have enough to live upon and more.

23 October.

Clara has not arrived, and up to this moment there is no answer.  This is the more strange as she used to write every day, inquiring after my health.  Her silence would not surprise me if I thought she wanted even ten minutes to make up her mind.  I shall wait patiently; but it would be better if she did not put it off.  I feel that if I had not sent off that letter, I should send now another like it; but if I could take it back I should probably do so.

24 October.

This is what Clara writes:—­

Dear Monsieur Leon,—­Upon receiving your letter I felt so foolishly happy that I wanted to start for Berlin at once.  But it is because I love you sincerely that I listened to the voice which said to me that the greatest love ought not to be the greatest egoism, and that I had no right to sacrifice you for myself.