I, too, perhaps, had I no fortune, should have to do
something, and should acquire that energy of decision in which I have
been wanting all my life.
The doctor left me presently as he had another patient at Ploszow, a
young cleric from the Warsaw seminary, the son of one of the Ploszow
peasants. He is in the last stage of consumption. My aunt has given
him a room in one of the out-buildings, where she and Aniela look
after him. When I heard of this I went to pay him a visit, and
instead of the dying man I expected to see, I found a young, rather
thin-looking lad, but bright and full of life. The doctor says it
is the last flicker of the lamp. The young cleric was nursed by his
mother, who, upon seeing me, overwhelmed me with a shower of gratitude
copious enough to drown myself in.
Aniela did not visit the sick man that day, but remained with her
mother. I saw her only at dinner, at which also the mother was present
in her invalid's chair. It is only natural that Aniela should devote
her time to her mother, and yet I fancy she does it partly to avoid
being alone with me. In time our mutual relations will establish
themselves upon an easier footing, but I quite understand that at
first it will be a little awkward. Aniela has so much intelligence of
heart, so much goodness and sensibility, that she cannot look upon our
present position with indifference, and has not worldly experience
enough to preserve an appearance of ease.
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