t from mine. I shall
never marry,--think only what a lonely man I am. I have nobody near
me,--nobody to share my thoughts, my plans, or my sorrows; nothing but
loneliness around me. Is it not natural that I look for sympathy where
I might expect to find it? I am like the crippled beggar, who stands
waiting at the gate until they give him a small coin. At this moment
the beggar is very poor indeed, and he stands under your window, and
begs for a little friendliness, sympathy, and pity. A very small coin
will satisfy him,--you will not refuse him that, Aniela, will you?"

"I will not, Leon; I will not, since you are so unhappy--"

Her voice broke, and she began to tremble. Again I had to make a great
effort to restrain myself; and as I looked at her, something like
unshed tears took me by the throat.

"Aniela! little Aniela!" I exclaimed, not knowing what to say.

But she waved her hands, as if to ward me off, and said, her eyes full
of tears,--

"Let me go--I shall be better presently. I can not go back like this;
let me go."

And she went swiftly away.

"Aniela, forgive me!" I called after her.

My first impulse was to follow her, but I thought it would be better
to leave her to herself, and I only followed her with my eyes. She
went quickly back into the avenue we had crossed together, and then
turned into a side path. Sometimes the foliage hid her from my eyes,
then again the light dress lit up by the sun appeared between the
trees. From the distance I saw how she shut and opened her sunshade,
as if trying by physical exertion to overcome her emotion. During all
that time I inwardly called her the most endearing names that love
could invent. I could not go away without looking once more into her
eyes; but I had a long time to wait. She came at last, but passed
quickly by, as if afraid of another shock; she only smiled at me in
passing, with angelic sweetness, and said, "I am all right again."

On her face, pink with exercise, there was no trace of tears. I
remained alone, and a mad, indescribable joy got hold of me, hope
filled my heart, and there was one thought dominating everything: "She
loves me, she fights against it, does not yield, deludes herself--but
loves." At times, the most self-possessed of men, in the
super-abundance of some emotion, comes near the brink of madness. I
was so near it then that I felt a wild desire to hide myself in the
deepest recess of the woods, tear the grass, and shout at t