lf-contained and melancholy as he used to be. Yesterday,
towards evening, he came to see me; we went out for a walk as far as
the Thermes of Caracalla; then I asked him to come back with me, and
he stopped until midnight. I had a long talk with him, which I note
down, as it made upon me a certain impression. Lukomski seemed a
little ashamed of the exhibition of feeling he had made near "The
Dying Gladiator;" but I led him on and gradually came to know the
man as he really was. As we were growing very friendly I ventured to
remark,--
"Excuse the question, but I cannot understand why a man so fond of
domestic life has not taken to himself a companion. Neither your
studio, your assistants, nor your dogs can give you the feeling of a
home you are missing, as a wife would."
Lukomski smiled, and pointing to the ring on his finger, said,--
"I am going to be married shortly. We are only waiting because the
young lady is in mourning for her father; I am to join her in two
months."
"At Sierpiec?"
"No, she comes from Wilkomierz."
"What took you to Wilkomierz?"
"I have never been there. I met her by accident on the Corso in Rome."
"That was a fortunate accident, was it not?"
"The most fortunate in my life."
"Was it during the Carnival?"
"No. It happened in this way: I was on my way to the studio when, in
the Via Condotto, I saw two fair-haired women inquiring in very
bad Italian the way to the Capitol. They were saying: 'Capitolio,
Capitole, Capitol,' and nobody seemed to know what they wanted,
because here, as you know, they call it 'Campidolio.' I could not have
been mistaken,--they were Poles, evidently mother and daughter. They
were overjoyed when I addressed them in Polish; I was very glad too,
and so I not only showed them the way but went there with them."
"You have no idea how this interests me; and so you went together?"
"Yes, we went together. On the way I looked at the younger lady; a
figure like a young poplar, graceful, pretty, a small head, ears a
perfect model, the face full of expression, and eyelashes pure gold,
such as, you find only at home; there is nothing of that kind here,
unless now and then at Venice. She pleased me very much too because of
that thoughtfulness for her mother, who was in grief, having lost her
husband; I thought she must have a good heart. For about a week I went
with them everywhere, and then asked for the young lady's hand."
"After a week's acquaintance; is
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