The christening came. Immediately after his arrival in the world, the young man had been baptized with water by Pani Bigiel, to whom, impressed by the sickness of the mother, it seemed that the little one might die any moment. But he had not even thought of that, and had waited, in the best of health and appetite, for the time of the solemnity, in which he was to play the leading part. Pan Stanislav had invited all his acquaintances. Besides people of the house, and grandfather Plavitski, there were Pani Emilia, who, for that day, had rallied the remnant of her strength, the Bigiels, with the little Bigiels, Professor Vaskovski, Svirski, Pan Ignas, and Panna Ratkovski. Pani Polanyetski, now in health, and happy, looked so enchanting that Svirski, gazing at her, caught his hair with both hands, and said, with his usual outspokenness,—

“This just passes every understanding! As God lives! a man might lose his eyes.”

“Well,” said Pan Stanislav, puffing with satisfaction, and with that conceit evident in him that he had always seen that which others saw only now for the first time.

But Svirski answered,—

“Kneel down, nations! I will say nothing further.”

Marynia was confused at hearing this, but flushed with pleasure, feeling that Svirski was right. She had, however, to occupy herself with the guests and the ceremony, and all the more since a certain disorder had crept in, to begin with. The first couple, Pani Emilia and Bigiel, were to hold little Stas; the second couple were Panna Ratkovski and Svirski. Meanwhile, this last man began to create unexpected difficulties, discovering hindrances, and evading, it was unknown why. “He would be very glad—he had come from Italy purposely—of course. That was an arranged affair; but he had never before held a child at a christening, therefore he didn’t know if his god-child would remain in good health, and especially if he would have luck with women.” At this Pan Stanislav laughed, and called him a superstitious Italian, but Marynia divined the trouble more quickly. She took advantage of the moment in which he had pushed back toward the window to escape, and whispered,—

“A gossip[15] of the second couple is no hindrance in this case.”

Svirski raised his eyes to her, then laughed, showing his small sound teeth, and said on a sudden, turning to Panna Ratkovski,—

“It is true, this is only in the second couple; therefore, I will serve you.”

All surrounded the little Stas, who, in the arms of the nurse, and dressed in muslin and lace, looked valiant, with his bald spot and his staring round eyes, in which the external world was reflected as mechanically as in a mirror. Bigiel took him now in his arms, and the ceremony began.

Those present listened with due attention to the solemn sacramental words, but the young pagan exhibited exceptional hardness of heart. First he began to kick, so that he half freed himself from Bigiel’s arms; later, when Bigiel, in his name, renounced the devil and his works, the young man did all in his power to drown the words. It was only when he saw, all at once, in the midst of his screaming, Bigiel’s spectacles, that he stopped suddenly, as if to let people know that if there are such astonishing objects in the world, it is a different thing.

However, the ceremony ended, and immediately after they gave him into the hands of the nurse, who put him into a splendid cradle, in the form of a wagon, the gift of Svirski, and wished to roll him out of the room. But Svirski, who never in his life, perhaps, had seen so nearly such a small person, and in whose breast beat a heart long yearning for fatherhood, stopped the nurse, and, bending down to the cradle, took the child in his arms.

“Carefully, carefully!” cried Pan Stanislav, pushing up quickly.

But the artist turned to him, and said,—

“Sir, I have held in my hands the works of Luca della Robbia.”

And, in fact, he lifted the little creature, and began to swing him with as much dexterity as if he had had care of children all his life. Then he approached Professor Vaskovski, and asked,— “Well, what does the beloved professor think of his young Aryan?”

“What?” answered the old man, looking with tenderness at the child; “naturally, an Aryan, an Aryan of purest water.”

“And a coming missionary,” added Pan Stanislav.

“He will not turn from that in the future; he will not evade, just as you cannot evade,” answered the professor.

It was not possible, in fact, to prejudge the future; but for the moment the young Aryan avoided all missions in a manner so unmistakable, and simply insulting, that it was necessary to give him to the nurse. The ladies, however, did not cease to smack their lips at him, and to be charmed with him, until they came to a decisive conclusion that he was a perfectly exceptional child, that his whole bearing showed this clearly, and that any one must be without eyes not to see that that would be the nicest man in the country, and, moreover, a genius.

But the “genius” fell asleep at last, as if he had been stunned by the incense, and meanwhile lunch was served. Marynia, in spite of all her friendship for the artist, seated Pan Ignas next to Panna Ratkovski. She wished, as, for that matter, all wished, not excepting even Svirski, that something should be made clear in their relations, for Pan Ignas acted strangely. Svirski held that he was not yet entirely normal. He was healthy; he slept and ate well; he had grown a little heavier; he spoke with judgment, even more deliberately than had been his habit,—but there appeared in him a certain infirmity of will, a certain lack of that initiative for which he had been so distinguished before. In Italy he grew radiant at remembrance of Panna Ratkovski; and when he spoke of her his eyes filled with tears at times. On his return, when some one reminded him that it would be well to make a visit to Panna Ratkovski, and especially when that one offered to go with him, he answered, “It is true,” and he went with delight. But the visit made, it seemed as though he did not remember her existence. At times it was evident that in the depth of his soul something was troubling him, swallowing all his mental force. Svirski supposed for a while that it might be the remembrance of Panna Castelli; but he convinced himself, with a certain astonishment, that it was not, and at last he began to think that Pan Ignas never mentioned her because he had lost the feeling that she was real, or that she seemed to him now an impression so remote, a remembrance so blown apart, that it could not be brought into a real living whole. He was not melancholy. On the contrary, one might note at times in him satisfaction with life and the joy which he experienced, as it were, in this his second birth in it. Really sad, more and more confined in herself, and increasingly quiet, was Panna Ratkovski. It may be that, besides a lack of mutual feeling, other things in Pan Ignas alarmed her; but she did not mention those alarms to any one. Marynia and Pani Bigiel, judging that the only cause of her sadness was the conduct of Pan Ignas, showed the most heartfelt sympathy, and were ready to do anything to help her. Marynia saw Pan Ignas now for the first time since his return from Italy; but Pani Bigiel spoke to him daily, praising Panna Ratkovski, reminding him how much he owed her, and giving him to understand more and more clearly that it was his duty to pay something of the debt which he owed her. The honest Svirski, to the detriment of his own hopes, repeated the same to him; and Pan Ignas agreed to everything, but, as it were, unwillingly, or without being able to add the final conclusion. He spoke of his approaching second trip abroad, of plans of still greater journeys in the future,—in a word, of things which, by their nature, excluded the co-operation of Panna Ratkovski.

And now, sitting side by side, they spoke little to each other. Pan Ignas ate abundantly, and with appetite, even with attention; he followed with his eyes the new courses which were served first to the elder guests. Panna Ratkovski, noticing this, looked on him at moments, as if with painful sympathy. At last this began to vex Marynia; so, wishing to rouse a conversation between them, she said, bending over the table,—

“You have come so recently from travels, tell me and Steftsia something of Italy. Hast thou never been there, Steftsia?”

“I have not,” answered Panna Ratkovski; “but not long since I read the account of a journey—but to read and to see are different.”

And she blushed slightly, for she had betrayed the fact that she had been reading about Italy just when Pan Ignas was there.

“Pan Svirski persuaded me to go as far as Sicily,” said he, “but it was hot there at that time; that would be the place to visit at this season.” “Ah!” said Marynia, “it is well that I think of it—but my letters? You asked through Pan Svirski if I wished you to write your impressions, but afterward I did not receive a single letter.”

Pan Ignas blushed; he was confused, and then in a kind of strange and uncertain voice, answered,—

“No, for I have not been able yet; I will write very much, but later.”

Having heard these words, Svirski approached Marynia after lunch, and indicating Pan Ignas with his eyes, said,—

“Do you know the impression which he makes on me sometimes?—that of a costly vessel which is cracked.”