ts, the consciousness of wrong, my foolishness, spiritual
crookedness, pain, bitterness, disappointment, and loss. Verily a
munificent spirit! I might be even now perfectly contented if somebody
could take from my brain that particular part wherein memory dwells. I
try to drive away the thoughts of what might have been if things had
turned out differently, but cannot always manage it. My munificent,
generous angel will come now and then, and from her cornucopia shower
her gifts upon me. At times the idea comes into my mind that Pani
Kromitzka will lay the ghost of Aniela,--and that is one reason I wish
to go; to look upon her happiness, her married life, and all those
changes which must have made her different from the old Aniela.
Perhaps I may meet her at Ploszow, as she will want to see her mother,
after so many months of separation.

I suppose that I do not delude myself, and that "ceci tuera cela."
I count mostly upon my nerves, which are so easily worked upon. I
remember that when I had made Aniela's acquaintance and her charm
began to act upon me with such irresistible force, the very mention of
Kromitzki in connection with her made her less desirable. This will
be more so now, when she belongs to him body and soul. I am almost
certain the remedy will prove efficacious, and that "ceci tuera cela."
And if not, if it should turn out differently, what have I to lose? I
do not wish to gain anything, but should not be sorry perhaps to know
that the guilt was not on my side only, and that henceforth the burden
would have to be divided between us two; this might give me a kind of
satisfaction. I say, it _might_, because I am not sure that it would.
Thoughts of revenge are very far from me. It is only on theatrical
boards that disappointed lovers are thirsting for revenge; in real
life they go away with distaste, that is all. Moreover, to make Pani
Kromitzka believe that she had done wrong in rejecting my repentance I
should have to believe firmly in it myself,--and strange to say, there
are moments I am not sure of anything.

5 April.

I know for certain I shall meet Pani Kromitzka. Her husband has sold
the estate, betaken himself to Baku on business speculation, and has
sent his wife to join her mother at Ploszow; so my aunt tells me in
her letter. I received the news if not indifferently, at least with
perfect composure, but I notice that the impression gradually gained
upon me. At present I cannot think of anythi