When Pan Stanislav came to the Plavitskis’ he found there Gantovski. The young men greeted each other at once with evident coldness and aversion. There was not in the whole world that day an unhappier man than Gantovski. Old Plavitski bantered him as usual, and even more than usual, being in excellent humor because of his relative, the old lady from whom he expected a considerable inheritance. Gantovski’s presence was awkward for Marynia; and she strove in vain to hide this annoyance by kindness and a cordial reception. At last Pan Stanislav almost feigned not to see him. It was evident, too, that Gantovski had not confessed anything before old Plavitski, and that he was trembling lest Pan Stanislav might refer to his adventure with Mashko, or tell it outright.

Pan Stanislav understood this at once, as well as the advantage over “the bear” which was given him by his silence; wishing to use it in the interest of Mashko, he was silent for a time, but could not forego the pleasure of punishing Gantovski in another way. He occupied himself the whole evening with Marynia, as he had not done since Litka’s death. This filled Marynia with evident delight. Leaving Gantovski to her father, she walked with Pan Stanislav through the room and talked confidentially; then they sat under the palm, where Pan Stanislav had seen Pani Emilia after the funeral, and talked about her approaching admission to the order of Sisters of Charity. To Gantovski it seemed at times that only people who were betrothed could speak in that way; and he felt then what must be felt by a soul not in purgatory, for in purgatory a soul has hope yet before it, but what is felt by a soul when entering the gate with the inscription “Lasciate ogni speranza” (Leave every hope). Seeing them together in this way, he thought, too, that perhaps Polanyetski had bought the oak with the land so as to obtain for Marynia even a part of Kremen, and therefore with her will and knowledge. And this being the case, the hair rose on his head at the mere thought of how he had blundered in raising a scandal with Mashko. Plavitski, on his part, hearing his half conscious, but altogether inappropriate answers, amused himself still more at the expense of the “rustic,” who on the city pavement had lost what remained of his wit. Plavitski considered himself now as the model of a man of the “capital.”

The moment came, however, when the young men were left alone, for Marynia was occupied with tea in the next room, and Plavitski had gone for cigars to his study; Pan Stanislav turned then to Gantovski,—

“Let us go together after tea,” said he; “I wish to speak with you touching your collision with Pan Mashko.”

“Of course,” answered Gantovski, gloomily, understanding that Polanyetski was Mashko’s second.

Meanwhile they had to remain for tea, and sit long enough after that, for Plavitski did not like to go to bed early, and summoned Gantovski to a game of chess. During the play, Marynia and Pan Stanislav sat apart and conversed with animation, to the heartfelt torment of “the bear.”

“The arrival of Gantovski must be pleasing to you,” said Pan Stanislav, all at once, “for it brings Kremen to your mind.”

Astonishment flashed over Marynia’s face that he was the first to mention Kremen. She had supposed that, in virtue of a tacit agreement, he would cover that question with silence.

“I think no more now of Kremen,” answered she, after a pause.

This statement was not true, for in her heart’s depth she was sorry for the place in which she had been reared,—the place of her labor for years, and of her shattered hopes; but she thought herself forced to speak thus by duty, and by the feeling for Pan Stanislav, which was increasing continually.

“Kremen,” added she, with a voice of some emotion, “was the cause of our earliest quarrel; and I wish now for concord, concord forever.”

While saying this, she looked into Pan Stanislav’s eyes with a coquetry full of sweetness, which a bad woman is able to put on at any time, but an honest woman only when she is beginning to love.

“She is wonderfully kind,” thought he. Straightway he added aloud, “You might have a fabulous weapon against me, for you might lead me to perdition with kindness.”

“I do not wish to lead you to that,” replied she. And in sign that she did not, she began to shake her dark, shapely head laughingly; and Pan Stanislav looked at her smiling face, and her mouth a trifle too large, and said mentally,—

“Whether I love her, or love her not, no one attracts me as she does.”

In fact, she had never occupied him and never pleased him more, even when he felt no shade of doubt that he loved her, and when he was struggling with that feeling. But at last he took farewell of her, for it had grown late; and after a while he and Gantovski found themselves on the street.

Pan Stanislav who never had been able to guard himself from impulsiveness, stopped the unfortunate “bear,” and asked almost angrily,—

“Did you know that it was I who bought the oak at Kremen?”

“I did,” answered Gantovski; “for your agent, that man who says that he is descended from Tartars—I forget what his name is—was at my house in Yalbrykov, and told me that it was you.”

“Why, then, did you make the scandal with Pan Mashko, not with me?”

“Do not push me to the wall so,” answered Gantovski, “for I do not like it. I raised the scandal with him, not with you, because the Plavitskis have nothing to do with you; but that man is obliged to pay them yearly from Kremen the amount he has engaged to pay, and if he ruins Kremen, he will have nothing to pay from. If you wished to know why I attacked him, you know now.”

Pan Stanislav had to confess in his soul that there was a certain justice in Gantovski’s answer; hence he began the conversation at once from another side,—

“Pan Mashko has begged me to be his second, that’s why I interfere in this question. I shall call on you to-morrow as a second; but as a private man, and a relative, though a distant one, of Pan Plavitski, I can tell you to-day only this,—that you have rendered the poorest service to Pan Plavitski, and if he and his daughter are left without a morsel of bread, they will have you to thank for it. This is the truth!”

Gantovski’s eyes became perfectly round.

“Without a morsel of bread? They will thank me for it?” “That is the position,” repeated Pan Stanislav. “But listen carefully. Without reference to the result of the scandal, the circumstances are such that it may have the most fatal results. I say this to you, on my word: you have, perhaps, ruined Pan Plavitski, and taken from him and his daughter the way, or rather the means, of living.”

If Gantovski really did not like to be pressed to the wall, it was time for him then to show his dislike; but Gantovski had lost his head utterly, and stood in amazement, with open mouth, unable to find an answer; and only after a time did he begin,—

“What? How? In what way? Be sure that it will not come to that, even if I have to give them Yalbrykov.”

“Pan Gantovski,” interrupted Pan Stanislav, “it is a pity to lose words. I have known your neighborhood from the time I was a little boy. What is Yalbrykov, and what have you in Yalbrykov?”

It was true, Yalbrykov was a poor little village, with nine vlokas of land; and, besides, Gantovski had, as is usual, inherited debts higher than his ears; so his hands dropped at his sides. It occurred to him, however, that perhaps matters did not stand as Pan Stanislav represented them; and he grasped at this thought as at a plank of salvation.

“I do not understand what you say,” said he. “God is my witness that I would choose my own ruin rather than injure the Plavitskis; and know this, that I would be glad to twist the neck of Pan Mashko; but, if it is necessary,—if it is a question of the Plavitskis,—then let the devils take me first!

“Immediately after the scandal, I went to Pan Yamish, who is here at the session, and told him all. He said that I had committed a folly, and scolded me, it is true. If it were a question of my skin, it would be nothing,—I would not move a finger; but, since it touches something else, I will do what Pan Yamish tells me, even should a thunderbolt split me next moment. Pan Yamish lives at the Hotel Saxe, and so do I.”

They parted on this; and Gantovski went to his hotel, cursing Mashko, himself, and Polanyetski. He felt that it must be as Polanyetski had said,—that some incurable misfortune had happened,—and that he had wrought grievous injustice against that same Panna Marynia for whom he would have given his last drop of blood; he felt that if there had been for him any hope, he had destroyed it completely. Plavitski would close his door on him. Panna Marynia would marry Polanyetski, unless he didn’t want her. But who would not want her? And, at the same time, Pan Gantovski saw clearly that among those who might ask her hand, he was the last man she would marry. “What have I? Nothing,” said he to himself; “that measly Yalbrykov, nothing more,—neither good name nor money. Every man knows something; I alone know nothing. Every one means something; I alone mean nothing. That Polanyetski has learning and money; but that I love her better,—the devils to me for that, and as much to her, if I am such an idiot that through loving I harm instead of helping her.”

Pan Stanislav, on his way home, thought of Gantovski in the same way, and in general had not for him even one spark of sympathy. At home he found Mashko, who had been waiting an hour, and who said, as greeting,—

“Kresovski will be the other second.”

Pan Stanislav made somewhat of a wry face, and answered,—

“I have seen Gantovski.”

“And what?”

“He is a fool.”

“He is that, first of all. Hast thou spoken to him in my name?”

“Not in thy name. As a relative of Pan Plavitski, I told him that he had given Pan Plavitski the worst service in the world.”

“You gave no explanations?”

“None. Hear me, Mashko: it is a question for thee of complete satisfaction; it is no point for me that ye should shoot each other. In virtue of what I have told Gantovski, he is ready to agree to all thy conditions. Happily, he has committed himself to Yamish. Yamish is a mild, prudent man, who understands also that Gantovski has acted like an idiot, and will be glad to give him a lesson.”

“Very well,” said Mashko. “Give me a pen and piece of paper.”

“Thou hast them at the desk.”

Mashko sat down and wrote. When he had finished, he gave the written sheet to Pan Stanislav, who read as follows:—

“Gantovski is to declaim this, and then subscribe it,” said Mashko.

“This is devilishly unmerciful; no one will agree to it,” said Pan Stanislav.

“Dost thou acknowledge that this fool has permitted to himself something unheard of with reference to me?”

“I do.”

“And remember what result this adventure may have for me?”

“It is impossible to know that.”

“Well, I know; but I will tell thee only this much,—those ladies will regret from their souls that they are bound to me, and will use every pretext which will excuse them before society. That is certain; I am ruined almost beyond rescue.”

“The devil!”

“Thou canst understand now that what is troubling me must be ground out on some one, and that Gantovski must pay me for the injustice in one form or another.”

“Neither have I any tenderness for him. Let it be so,” said Pan Stanislav, shrugging his shoulders.

“Kresovski will come for thee to-morrow morning at nine.”

“Very well.”

“Then, till we meet again. By the way, should you see Plavitski to-morrow, tell him that his relative, Panna Ploshovski, from whom he expected an inheritance, has died in Rome. Her will was here with her manager, Podvoyni, and is to be opened to-morrow.”

“Plavitski knows of that already, for she died five days ago.”

Pan Stanislav was left alone. For a certain time he thought of his money without being able to foresee a method by which he might receive it from the bankrupt Mashko, and the thought disturbed him. He remembered, however, that the debt could not be removed from the mortgage on Kremen until it was paid in full; that in this last case he would continue as he had been previously,—a creditor of Kremen. Kremen, it is true, was not a much better debtor than Mashko, hence this was no great consolation; but for the time he was forced to be satisfied with it. Later on, something else also came to his head. He remembered Litka, Pani Emilia, Marynia, and he was struck by this,—how the world of women, a world of feelings purely, a world whose great interest lies in living in the happiness of those near us, differs from the world of men, a world full of rivalry, struggles, duels, encounters, angers, torments, and efforts for acquiring property. He recognized at that moment what he had not felt before,—that if there be solace, repose, and happiness on earth, they are to be sought from a loving woman. This feeling was directly opposed to his philosophy of the last few days, hence it disturbed him. But, in comparing further those two worlds, he could not withhold the acknowledgment that that feminine and loving world has its foundation and reason of existence.

If Pan Stanislav had been more intimate with the Holy Scriptures, beyond doubt the words, “Mary has chosen the better part,” would have occurred to him.