No, in regard to that I cannot delude myself any
longer. Aniela knew very well that her departure would be to me a more
dangerous catastrophe than a wound on my head or the loss of an arm or
leg; and yet she did not hesitate a moment. I was perfectly aware that
it was all her doing. She wanted to be near her husband, and what
would become of me was not taken into account.
Again I felt myself growing pale with anger, hatred, and indignation,
and only one step removed from madness. "Stop a little," I said to
myself, pressing both hands against my temples; "perhaps she is
seeking safety in flight because she loves you, and feels she cannot
resist any longer." Ah me! and these thoughts sprung up, but they did
not find any congenial soil and perished like the seed sown on a rock;
they only roused a bitter, despairing irony. "Yes," something said
within me, "hers is a love resembling the compassion which makes
people remove the pillow from under the dying man's head, to shorten
his agony. I shall not suffer much longer, and Kromitzki will be able
to see her often and bring her such comfort as a wife expects from her
husband."
Aniela at that moment was hateful to me. For the first time in my
life I wished she really loved Kromitzki; she would have been less
repugnant to me. Anger and resentment almost deprived me of my senses,
and I saw clearly that if I did not do something, revenge myself upon
her in some way, something terrible would happen to me.
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