"
The mention of the five farms appeared to me so inappropriate,
selfish, and futile in presence of Aniela's tears that it made me
quite angry with my aunt.
"Never mind the farms," I said brusquely, "she is grieved about her
mother;" and I went away in sorrow, for I felt I was torturing the
woman I loved beyond anything. I had conquered along the whole line,
yet I felt profoundly sad, as if the future were full of unknown
terrors.
25 May.
To-day is the third day since our conversation, and as Aniela has not
referred to it again, I remain. She does not say much to me, nor does
she avoid me altogether, fearing to attract notice. I try to be good,
friendly, and attentive, but do not thrust myself in her way. I want
her to think I keep my feeling under control, but she cannot help
seeing it is there, and increasing every moment. At any rate we have a
little world to ourselves, where only we two dwell; we have our mutual
secret from the others. When we speak about indifferent topics we both
know that at the bottom of our hearts there is something we both think
about but do not put into words. This forms a tie; time and patience
will do the rest. From my love I weave a thousand threads around her,
which will bind us more and more. This would be all in vain if she
loved her husband; it would make her hate me. But the past speaks in
my favor, and the present does not not belong to Kromitzki.
Pages:
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335