"
"They were very promising in autumn, my lady; now they are covered by
a yard or two of snow,--how am I to know the state they are in? I am
not the Lord Almighty."
"I beg of you, Pan Chwastowski, not to take the Lord's name in vain."
"I do not look under His snow, therefore do not offend Him."
"Do you mean to insinuate that I do?"
"Most certainly."
"Pan Chwastowski, you are unbearable."
"Oho! bearable enough because he bears a great deal."
In this or that way the screw goes round. There is scarcely a meal but
they have some differences. Then my aunt at last subsides, and seems
to wreak the remnants of her anger on the dinner. She enjoys a hearty
appetite. As the dinner goes on she gradually brightens up and
recovers her usual spirits. After dinner, I offer my arm to Aniela's
mother, my aunt accepts Pan Chwastowski's, and presently they sip
their black coffee in peace and perfect amity. My aunt inquires after
his sons, and he kisses her hands. I saw those sons of his when they
were at the university, and I hear they are promising young men, but
great radicals.
Aniela used to get frightened at first at these prandial disputes,
until I gave her the clue to the real state of things. So now when
the first signal of battle is given, she looks at me slyly from under
those long lashes, and there is a little smile lurking in the corners
of her mouth.
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