other, and will end in ruining them and himself."
I asked my aunt whether she had said anything about this to Aniela.

"To Aniela?" she replied. "I am glad you have come; it relieves my
mind and makes it easier to bear. I cannot speak about it with Aniela.
I tried it once when I could not contain myself any longer. I made
some remark and she grew very angry, then burst out crying and said,
'He was obliged, he was obliged, and could not help it.' She does not
allow anybody to say a word against him, and would like to cover all
his short-comings before the world; but she cannot deceive an old
woman like me, and I know that at the bottom of her heart she must
condemn him as I do."

"Do you mean she does not love him?"

My aunt looked at me in unfeigned surprise.

"Not love him? Of course she loves him. Whom should she love if not
him? That's just where the sting lies; she grieves because she loves
him. But one may love and yet have one's eyes open to what is wrong."

I had my own opinion on that point, but preferred not to express it,
and allowed my aunt to proceed.

"What I resent most in him are his lies. He assured Celina and Aniela
that in a year or two he would be able to buy the estate back. Just
tell me, is this possible? and those women believe he is in earnest!"

"According to my opinion it is quite impossible. Besides, he will go
on speculating."

"He knows it even better than we do, and yet he goes on lying to the
women."

"Perhaps he does it to relieve their anxiety."

My aunt grew angrier still.

"Relieve their anxiety! fiddlesticks! they would not have had any
anxiety if he had not sold it. Do not defend him, it is of no use.
Everybody blames him. Chwastowski was wild about it. He had looked
into the affairs, and says that without any ready money he could have
cleared the estate himself in a few years. I would have given the
money and so would you, would you not? and now it is too late."

Presently I inquired about Aniela's health, with a strange, troubled
foreboding I might hear something which, though perfectly natural
and in the order of things, would give a shock to my nerves. My aunt
caught the drift of my thoughts and replied with as much acerbity as
before:--

"There is nothing whatever the matter with her. All he could do
he did; that was to sell his wife's estate. No, there is nothing
expected."

I turned the conversation to something else. I told my aunt I had
arrived together wit