Hania

I withdraw to our kitchen, and after a few minutes reappear in my natural form. Kazia and her parents inquire what this masquerade means.

"A very simple thing. You see, sometimes we painters render one another a friendly service, and pose to one another for pictures. As Antek, who posed to me for an old Jew. You didn't know him, Kazia, did you, in the picture? I am posing for Tsepkovski. Such is the custom among painters, especially as there is a lack of models in Warsaw."

"We have come to give thee a surprise," said Kazia; "besides, I have never visited a studio in my life. Oh, what disorder! Is it this way with all painters?"

"More or less, more or less."

Pan Suslovski declares that he would rather find a little more system; and in this respect he hopes for a change in the future. I want to break his head with my lyre. Meanwhile Kazia smiles with coquettishness, and says, —

"There is one painter, a great good-for-nothing, with whom it will be different; only let me take the matter in hand, all will be put in order, arranged, cleaned, fumigated."

Thus speaking, she raises her nose, which is in the air, looks at the festoons of spider-webs adorning the corners of our studio, and adds, —

"Such disorder might discourage a merchant even. Some one will come, and immediately find himself, as it were, in an old clothes shop. For example, look at that armor; terrible how rusty it is! Still, all that is needed is to call a servant, tell her to crush a little brick; and all will begin to shine like a new samovar."

Jesus Mary! She talks of merchants, and wants to clean with brick-dust my armor dug out of a tomb – O Kazia, Kazia!

Suslovski, now happy, kisses her on the forehead; and Antek gives out certain ominous sounds which call to mind the grunting of a wild boar.

Kazia threatens me with forefinger on her nose, and talks on, —

"I beg thee to remember that all will be changed." Then she concludes, "And if a certain gentleman will not come to us this evening, he will be bad, and people will not love him."

So saying, she closes her eyes. I cannot say that there was not much charm in those tricks of hers. I promise to come; and I conduct my future family to the groundfloor.

Returning, I find Antek looking awry and distrustfully on a whole package of hundred ruble notes which are lying on the table.

"What is that?"

"Dost know what has happened?"

"I do not."

"I, like a common thief, robbed a man."

"How?"

"I sold him my corpses."

"And is that the money?"

"It is; I am a low usurer."

I embrace Antek; I congratulate him from my whole heart; he begins to relate how it happened, —

"I sit here after your departure, till some gentleman comes and asks if I am Svyatetski. I answer, 'I am curious to know why I should not be Svyatetski!' Then he says, 'I saw your picture and I want to buy it.' I say, 'You are free to do so; but permit me to say that a man must be an idiot to buy a wretched picture!' 'I am not an idiot,' says he; 'but I have a fancy to buy pictures painted by idiots.' 'If that is so, very well,' I answer. He asks the price. I say, 'What is that to me?' 'I will give you so much and so much?' 'That is well! if you will give that price, then give it.' He gave it, and went away. He left his card with the name Byalkovski, M. D. I am a low usurer, and that's the end of the matter!"

"Long life to the corpses! Antek, get married."

"I would rather hang myself; I am a low usurer, nothing more."

CHAPTER XV

IN the evening I am at the Suslovskis; Kazia and I are in the niche in which there is a small sofa. Pani Suslovski is sitting at a table lighted by a lamp, and is sewing on something for Kazia's trousseau. Pan Suslovski sits at a table reading, with dignity, the evening number of "The Kite."

Somehow I am not myself; I wish to dissipate that feeling by pushing up very near Kazia.

In the salon silence is supreme; it is interrupted only by Kazia's whisper. I beg to embrace her; she whispers, —

"Vladek, papa will see us."

With that "papa" begins to read aloud, "The picture of our well-known artist, Svyatetski, 'The Last Meeting,' was bought to-day by Dr. Byalkovski for fifteen hundred rubles."

"That is true," I add. "Antek sold it this morning."

Then I try to embrace Kazia, and again I hear her whisper, —

"Papa will see us – "

My eyes turn involuntarily to Pan Suslovski. I see on a sudden that his face is changing; he shades his eyes with his hands and bends over "The Kite."

What the devil can he find there of such interest?

"Father, what is the matter?" asks Pani Suslovski.

He rises, advances two steps toward us, then halts, transfixes me with a glance, and, clasping his hands begins to nod his head.

"What is the matter?" I ask.

"See how falsehood and crime come always to the surface," answers Suslovski, pathetically. "My dear sir, read to the end, if shame will permit."

Thus speaking, he makes a movement as if to wrap himself in his toga, and gives me "The Kite." I take the number, and my glance falls on an announcement entitled: "A Minstrel of the Ukraine." I am confused somewhat, and read hurriedly the following, —

"Some days since a rare guest came to our city in the person of a decrepit minstrel who visits Ukraine families resident among us, begging them for alms, and singing songs in return. It is said that our well-known and sympathetic actress, Eva Adami, is particularly occupied with him; he was seen with her in a carriage no longer ago than this morning. In the first days of the appearance of this guest from a distance, a wonderful report rose that under the coat of the minstrel is hidden one of the most famous of our artists, who, in this manner, without arresting the attention of husbands and guardians, finds easy access to boudoirs. We are convinced that this report has no foundation, even for this reason alone, that our diva would never consent to further an undertaking of that kind. The old man, according to our information, has wandered in here straight from the Ukraine. His intelligence is dulled somewhat; but his memory is perfect."

"Hell!"

Suslovski is so enraged that he cannot recover his voice; at last he casts forth his superabundance of indignation, —

"What new falsehood, what excuse will you find to justify your conduct? Have we not seen you to-day in that shameful disguise? Who is that minstrel?"

"I am that minstrel," I answer; "but I do not understand why you find that disguise shameful."

At that moment Kazia snatches "The Kite" from my hand and begins to read. Suslovski wraps himself still more closely in the toga of indignation and continues, —

"Scarcely have you passed the threshold of an honest house when you bring with you corruption; and before you are the husband of that unfortunate child, you, in company with women of light character, betray her; you trample already on her confidence and ours; you break your plighted word – and for whom? For a hetaira of the theatre!"

Anger carries me off at last.