The doctor was right.  We did well to come to Warsaw,—­firstly, because in case of any sudden emergency there is help at hand; secondly, we are not obliged to receive visitors.  At Ploszow we could not have avoided that, as it is impossible to turn away a visitor from one’s own gates; and probably a great many would have come with condolences.  Finally, at Ploszow there existed already a mysterious, heavy atmosphere, in which my efforts to give the conversation a light and cheerful turn appeared unnatural.  I suppose this cannot be avoided even here, but Aniela’s mind will be occupied with hundreds of little sensations, and be less observant of any slight changes in her surroundings than she would be at Ploszow.  She will not go out often, and never alone.  The doctor orders exercise, but I have found means for that.  Beyond the stables there is a good-sized garden with a wooden gallery near the wall.  I will have it glazed, and in bad weather Aniela can walk there.  It is a terrible strain, this continual anxiety hanging over our heads.

15 November.

How did it happen?  How the slightest suspicion could have entered her head I cannot understand.  And yet it is there.  To-day, during breakfast, she suddenly raised her eyes, looked inquiringly at all of us in turn and said:—­

“I cannot quite make it out, but I am under the impression that you are concealing something from me.”

I felt myself growing pale,—­Pani Celina behaved most fatally; only the dear old aunt did not lose her presence of mind and at once began to scold Aniela:—­

“Of course we are hiding something, and did not like to tell you that we consider that little head of yours a foolish one.  Leon said yesterday that you would never learn to play chess, as you had no idea about combination.”

I breathed more easily, and getting hold of the clue began to make fun of her.  Aniela seemed satisfied for the moment, but I am quite certain that we have not dispersed her suspicion, and that even my cheerfulness may have seemed artificial to her.  My aunt and Pani Celina were thoroughly frightened, and I was in despair; for I saw how fruitless would be our endeavors so keep the thing from her altogether.  I fancy that Aniela suspects we are keeping from her some bad news about her husband’s financial affairs; but what will she think if week after week passes and she does not get any letters from him?  What can we tell her; how explain the silence?

Towards noon the doctor came.  We told him what had happened, and he repeated what he had said before, that it would be better to let her know the truth.

“Naturally Pani Kromitzka will be getting anxious at not receiving any letters, and thence will draw the worst conclusions.”

I still tried to avoid extreme measures and said that this anxiety would prepare her mind for the news.

“Yes,” replied the doctor, “but anxiety prepares the organism badly for an ordeal which even under more favorable circumstances would not be an easy thing to bear.”