I spend whole hours with Aniela, with nothing to disturb us.  Pani Celina, who knows now about Kromitzki’s position, asked me to prepare Aniela for any news she might be likely to receive.  I have already told Aniela what I think in regard to her husband’s speculation, but only from a personal point of view.  I told her even that she ought not to take it to heart if he lost all his money, which after all might be the best thing that could happen to him, as then he might be able to settle to a quiet, practical life.  I set her mind at rest as to the money I had lent him, and said that was all right; I also told her something of my aunt’s plans for their future.  She listened with comparative calmness and without showing signs of emotion.  What most gives her strength and comfort is the consciousness that so many loving hearts are near her.  I love her now beyond all words; she sees it,—­she reads it in my eyes, and in my whole manner towards her.  When I succeed in cheering her up, or call forth her smiles, I am beside myself with delight.  There is at present in my love something of the attachment of the faithful servant who loves his mistress.  I often feel as if I ought to humble myself before her, as if my proper place were at her feet.  She never can grow ugly, changed, or old to me.  I accept everything, agree to everything, and worship her as she is.

12 November.

Kromitzki is dead!  The catastrophe has come upon us like a thunderbolt.  God keep Aniela from any harm in her present state.  To-day came a telegram to the effect that, accused of fraud and threatened with imprisonment, he has taken his life.  I should have expected anything but that!  Kromitzki is dead!  Aniela is free!  But how will she bear it?  I have been looking again and again at the telegram, to make sure I am not dreaming.  I cannot yet believe my own eyes; but the signature, “Chwastowski,” vouches for its truth.  I knew it could not end well, but I never supposed the end would be so speedy and so tragic.  No! the thought never crossed my mind.

I feel as if I had received a blow on the head.  If my brain does not give way now, it can bear anything.  I once helped Kromitzki, and latterly I have done what I could for him, consequently I have nothing to reproach myself with.  There was a time when from my whole soul I wished him dead,—­that is true; but it is all the more to my credit that I helped him in spite of that.  And death has overtaken him, not in consequence of anything I did, but in spite of it.  And Aniela is free!  Strange, though I know it, I cannot believe it altogether.  I am as if only half conscious.  Kromitzki to me was a mere stranger, moreover the greatest obstacle in my way.  The obstacle is removed, therefore I ought to feel a boundless joy; and yet I cannot, dare not feel it,—­possibly because a fear of the consequences for Aniela is connected with it.  My first thought when I received the telegram was:  “What will happen to Aniela?  How will she bear the news?” God guard her!  She did not love the man, but in her present state a shock may kill her.  I am thinking of taking her away from here.