Children of the Soil

“Come.”

Then she fled, as if ashamed of those colors on her face, which, in spite of the darkness, were increasingly evident.

On the way home it seemed to Pan Ignas that a shower of stars was raining down on him.

The departure of the Osnovskis was to take place in ten days only. Up to that time, the painting of portraits was to continue its usual course, and to go on in the same fashion till the last day, for Lineta did not wish to lose time. Pani Aneta persuaded her to paint Pan Ignas exclusively, since Kopovski would need only as many sittings as could be arranged in Prytulov just before their departure for Scheveningen. For Pan Ignas those sittings had become the first need of his life, as it were; and if by chance there was any interruption, he looked on that day as lost. Pani Bronich was present at the sittings most frequently. But he divined in her a friendly soul; and at last the manner in which she spoke of Lineta began to please him. They both just composed hymns in honor of Lineta, whom in confidential conversation Pani Bronich called “Nitechka.”[10 - “Nitechka” (little thread) is the diminutive of “Nitka,” itself a diminutive of “Nits,” which means thread.] This name pleased Pan Ignas the more clearly he felt how that “Nitechka” (thread) was winding around his heart.

Frequently, however, it seemed to him that Pani Bronich was narrating improbable things. It was easy to believe that Lineta was and could be Svirski’s most capable pupil; that Svirski might have called her “La Perla;” that he might have fallen in love with her, as Pani Bronich gave one to understand. But that Svirski, known in all Europe, and rewarded with gold medals at all the exhibitions, could declare with tears, while looking at some sketch of hers, that saving technique, he ought rather to take lessons of her, of this even Pan Ignas permitted himself to doubt. And somewhere, in some corner of his soul, in which there was hidden yet a small dose of sobriety, he wondered that Panna “Nitechka” did not contradict directly, but limited herself to her words usual on such occasions: “Aunt! thou knowest that I do not wish you to repeat such things.”

But at last he lost even those final gleams of sobriety, and began to have feelings of tenderness even over the late Bronich, and almost fell in love with Pani Bronich, for this alone, – that he could talk with her from morning till night of Lineta.

In consequence of this repeated insistence of Pani Bronich, he visited also, at this time, old Pan Zavilovski, that Crsus, at whose house he had never been before. The old noble, with milk-white mustaches, a ruddy complexion, and gray hair closely trimmed, received him with his foot in an armchair, and with that peculiar great-lord familiarity of a man accustomed to this, – that people count more with him than he with them.

“I beg pardon for not standing,” said he, “but the gout is no joke. Ha, what is to be done! An inheritance! It seems that this will be attached to the name for the ages of ages. But hast thou not a twist in thy thumb sometimes?”

“No,” answered Pan Ignas, who was a little astonished, as well at the manner of reception as that the old noble said thou to him from the first moment.

“Wait; old age will come.”

Then, calling his daughter, he presented Pan Ignas to her, and began to speak of the family, explaining to the young man how they were related. At last he said, —

“Well, I have not written verses, for I am too dull; but I must tell thee that thou hast written them for me, and that I was not ashamed, though I read my name under the verses.”

But the visit was not to end successfully. Panna Zavilovski, a person of thirty years, good-looking, but, as it were, untimely faded and gloomy, wishing to take some part in the conversation, began to inquire of her “cousin” whom he knew, and where he visited. To every name mentioned, the old noble appended, in one or two words, his opinion. At mention of Pan Stanislav, he said, “Good blood!” at Bigiel’s, he inquired, “How?” and when the name was repeated, he said, “Connais pas;” Pani Aneta he outlined with the phrase, “Crested lark!” at mention of Pani Bronich he muttered, “Babbler;” at last, when the young man named, with a certain confusion, Panna Castelli, the noble, whose leg twitched evidently at that moment, twisted his face terribly, and exclaimed, “Ei! a Venetian half-devil!”

At this, it grew dark in the eyes of Pan Ignas, who, notwithstanding his shyness, was impulsive; his lower jaw came forward more than ever, and, rising, he measured with a glance the old man from his aching foot to his crown, and said, —

“You have a way of giving sharp judgments, which does not suit me; therefore it is pleasant to take farewell.”

And, bowing, he took his hat and departed.

Old Pan Zavilovski, who permitted himself everything, and to whom everything was forgiven, looked at his daughter some time with amazement, and only after long silence exclaimed, —

“What! has he gone mad?”

The young man did not tell Pani Bronich what had happened. He said merely that he had made a visit, and that father and daughter alike did not please him. She learned everything, however, from the old man himself, who, for that matter, did not call Lineta anything but “Venetian half-devil,” even to her eyes.

“But to make the matter perfect, you have sent me a full devil,” said he; “it is well that he did not break my head.”

Still in his voice one might note a species of satisfaction that it was a Zavilovski who had shown himself so resolute; but Pani Bronich did not note it. She took the affair somewhat to heart, and, to the great astonishment of the “full-devil,” said to him, —

“He is wild about Lineta, and with him this is a sort of term of tenderness; besides, one should forgive a man much who has such a position, and in this age. It must be that you haven’t read Krashevski’s novel, ‘Venetian Half-Devil.’ This is a title in which there is a certain poetry ever since that author used it. When the old man grows good-natured, write him a couple of words, will you not? Such relations should be kept up.”

“Pani,” answered Pan Ignas, “I would not write to him for anything in the world.”

“Even if some one besides me should ask?”

“That is – again, I am not a stone.”

Lineta laughed when she heard these words. In secret she was pleased that Pan Ignas, at one word touching her which to him seemed offensive, sprang up as if he had heard a blasphemy. So that during the sitting, when for a while they were alone, she said, —

“It is wonderful how little I believe in the sincerity of people. So difficult is it for me to believe that any one, except aunt, should wish me well really.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I cannot explain it to myself.”

“But, for example, the Osnovskis? Pani Aneta?”

“Pani Aneta?” repeated Lineta.

And she began to paint diligently, as if she had forgotten the question.

“But I?” asked Pan Ignas, in a lower voice.

“You – yes. You, I am sure, would not let any one speak ill of me. I feel that you are sincerely well-wishing, though I know not why, for in general I am of so little worth.”

“You of little worth!” cried Pan Ignas, springing up. “Remember that, in truth, I will let no one speak ill of you, not even you yourself.”

Lineta laughed and said, —

“Very well; but sit down, for I cannot paint.”

He sat down; but he looked at her with a gaze so full of love and enchantment that it began to confuse her.

“What a disobedient model!” said she; “turn your head to the right a little, and do not look at me.”

“I cannot! I cannot!” answered Pan Ignas.

“And I, in truth, cannot paint, for the head was begun in another position. Wait!”

Then she approached him, and, taking his temples with her fingers, turned his head toward the right slightly. His heart began to beat like a hammer; everything went around in his eyes; and, holding the hand of Lineta, he pressed her warm palm to his lips, and made no answer, – he only pressed it more firmly.

“Talk with aunt,” said she, hurriedly. “We are going to-morrow.”

They could not say more, for that moment Osnovski, Kopovski, and Pani Aneta, who had been sitting in the drawing-room adjoining, came into the studio.

Pani Aneta, seeing Lineta’s blushing cheeks, looked quickly at Pan Ignas, and asked, —

“How is it going with you to-day?”

“Where is aunt?” inquired Lineta.

“She went out to make visits.”

“Long since?”

“A few minutes ago. How has it gone with you?”