ilent and uneasy; occasionally he would speak,
but in such a low tone, Janina could scarcely hear what he said.
Mrs. Krenska was plainly excited.

A gloomy atmosphere hung over them all. The dinner dragged wearily
on. Orlowski at times became wrapt in thought, and would then knit
his brows, angrily tug at his beard, and fling murderous glances at
his daughter.

After dinner they went to the parlor. Black coffee and cognac were
served. Orlowski quickly gulped down his coffee and left the room,
kissing Janina on the forehead and growling some unintelligible
remark as he departed.

They remained alone.

Janina kept looking out of the window. Grzesikiewicz, all flushed
and flustered and unlike himself, began to say something, taking
little swallows of coffee in between, until, finally, he drained it
off at the gulp and shoved his cup and saucer aside so vigorously
that they went tumbling over the table.

She laughed at his violence and embarrassment.

"At a moment like this a man could swallow a lamp without noticing
it," he remarked.

"That would be quite a feat," she answered, again bursting into
empty laughter.

"Are you laughing at me?" he asked uneasily.

"No, only the idea of swallowing a lamp seemed comical."

They relapsed into silence. Janina fidgeted with the window-shade,
while Grzesikiewicz tore at his gloves and impulsively bit his
moustache; he was literally shaking with emotion.

"It is so hard for me, so awfully hard!" he began, raising his eyes
to her entreatingly.

"Why?" she queried tersely and evasively.

"Well, because . . . because . . . For God's sake, I can't stand it
any longer! No, I can't endure this torment any longer, so I'll come
right out with it: I love you, Miss Janina, and beg you for your
hand," he cried aloud, at once sighing with immense relief. But
immediately he struck his forehead with his hand and, taking
Janina's hand, began anew:

"I have loved you ever so long, but feared to tell you. And now I
don't know how to express it as I would like to. . . . I love you
and beg you to be my wife. . . ."

He kissed her hand fervently and gazed at her with his blue, honest
eyes burning with blind love. His lips twitched nervously and a
pallor overspread his features.

Janina arose from her chair and, looking straight into his eyes,
answered slowly and quietly: "I do not love you."

All her nervousness had vanished.

Grzesikiewicz recoiled violently, as though someone