" What will happen when I wake
up, I do not know. I am sad now, but not unhappy; therefore I do not
want to wake up, and do not consider it my duty. It is even difficult
to me to recall the image of the Ploszowski who fancied himself bound
to Aniela. Bound,--why? by what reason? What has happened between us?
A slight, almost imperceptible kiss on the forehead,--a caress which,
among near relations, can be put down to brotherly affection. These
are ridiculous scruples. I have broken ties far different from these
without the slightest twinge of conscience. Were she not a relation,
it would be a different matter. It is true, she understood it in a
different way, and so did I at the time,--but let it pass. One prick
of conscience more or less, what does it matter? We do worse things
continually, to which the disappointment I caused Aniela is mere
childishness. Conscience that can occupy itself with such peccadilloes
must have nothing else to do. There is about the same proportion of
such kinds of crime to real ones as our conversations on the terrace
to real life.
Upon the whole, I do foresee what will happen; but I want to be left
in peace at present and not think of anything. "Do not wake me."
To-day it was determined that we ought to leave Peli as soon as the
hot weather sets in,--perhaps in the middle of April,--and go to
Switzerland.
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