13 May.

Clara and the Sniatynskis have not arrived. Instead of this, there
came a letter, informing us they would come to-morrow, the weather
permitting. To-day we had a thunder-storm, the like of which they have
not experienced here for a long time. About ten o'clock in the morning
a hot wind rose, which smothered everything in clouds of dust. The
wind fell at times, and then rose again with such fury that it seemed
to lay the trees flat. Our beautiful park was filled with the sound of
crashing branches, and clouds of dust mingled with torn-off leaves and
twigs. The great lime-tree close to the pavilion, where young Latysz
died, was split in two. It was fear-fully close, there was no air, and
the wind seemed to come straight from a heated furnace, and carried
with it a breath of carbon. I, used to the Italian _scirocco_, did not
mind it so much, but Pani Celina suffered greatly, and indirectly,
Aniela. My aunt was in a bad temper about the damage done to the park,
and as usual, vented it on Chwastowski. The peppery old gentleman,
who probably was caned often enough over his Homer, had evidently not
forgotten the Odyssey, nor his ready speech either, for he replied to
my aunt that if he were AEolus he would not serve her as agent, and
bear with her unjust tantrums. My aunt gave way this time, merely
because of the redoubled threats from the skies. It had grown very
still all at once, but from the south, banks of cloud, black as a
funereal pall, overcast with a sickly red sheen, came rolling up. In
a moment it grew as dark as night, and Pani Celina rung for lights.
Shortly afterwards the darkness yielded to an ominous reddish light.
Chwastowski rushed off in a hurry to give orders for the cattle to be
driven home, but the cow-herds had started without waiting for orders,
for presently we heard distinctly the mournful lowing of the cattle.
Then my aunt fetched the bell of Our Lady of Loreto, and went around
the house ringing energetically. I did not even try to explain to her
that ringing a bell in that motionless atmosphere might rather attract
than avert a thunderbolt, and in spite of the consciousness that in
case of danger I could not be of the slightest help, I was ashamed to
let her risk the danger alone. The old lady was simply magnificent
when, with her head thrown back, she seemed to defy the black and
copper-colored banks of clouds, and shook at them her Loreto bell.
I did not regret having gone with her,