For once I am a good Christian, and not only do not bear
malice to the little woman, but feel very friendly towards her. What a
warm, generous heart hers is! Sniatynski evidently thinks the question
finally settled; for he refrains from advice, and only expresses
sorrow.
"God grant," he writes, "you may find another like her." Strange, when
I come to think of it! It seems to me that I do not want another like
Aniela, or a better one either,--I want her. I say it seems to me;
for it is a feeling without any definite shape. I carry within me
something like an entangled skein; I weary myself, and yet am not able
to reduce it to any kind of order. In spite of all my self-knowledge,
I cannot quite make out what it is that makes me feel sad. Is it
because I find I love her, or is it because I feel I could love her
very much? Sniatynski unconsciously replies to this question in these
words: "I have heard or read that gold nuggets have sometimes a large
admixture of quartz, which must be crushed in order to get at the
gold. I suppose your heart is thus covered with an incrustation, that
only partly melted while you were staying at Ploszow. You did not
remain long enough, and simply had no time to let your love grow
sufficiently strong. You have, maybe, energy enough to act, but not
enough to decide; but you would have found the energy if the feeling
had been powerful enough.
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