she had resolved upon. I knew she could not write
to her husband: "Come and take me away, for Ploszowski is making love
to me;" she would not have done so even if she hated me. There is too
much delicacy of feeling in her to do that. Putting aside that an
encounter between me and Kromitzki might be the consequence of such a
step, Aniela would have to leave her sick mother, who cannot go away
from Ploszow.

Aniela's position is indeed a difficult one, and I counted upon that
before I made my confession. The thought crossed my mind that she
might take it into her head to avoid me altogether, and shut herself
up in her mother's rooms. But I dismissed the thought. In the country
and under the same roof it would be quite impracticable, or at any
rate so conspicuous as to rouse the elder ladies' attention and
consequently act injuriously upon her mother's health. In truth I take
the utmost advantage of her position, but who that is in love does not
do the same? I foresaw that Aniela, even if she returns my love, will
not allow me in the future to repeat my avowal,--she will resist more
than any other married woman; for what with her principles and her
modesty, the slightest sign of yielding would appear to her an
incredible crime. But how can she prevent me from telling her my love?
There is only one way,--by getting from me a voluntary promise; I
guessed she would speak to me about it, and I was right.

When I arrived at Ploszow she seemed pale, and a little worn, but
looked at me with a resolute face. It was evident the dear child had
laid by a whole store of arguments to convince me with, and believed
that after displaying them there would be nothing for me but to remain
silent forever. Angelic delusion; to think there is only one truth in
the world. No! do not enter into any arguments with me, my Aniela, for
if I believe in any truth, it is the truth and right of love; besides,
I am too wily, and each argument will be turned inside out like a
glove and made into a weapon against yourself. Neither argument nor
reasoning, not even my pity will save you; for the whiter, the more
perfect and angelic you prove yourself, the more I shall love you, and
the more I love, the more desirable you will be to me. I have nothing
but crocodile tears for you, which will only sharpen my rapacity. Such
is the mazy circle of love. At the sight of Aniela I felt myself drawn
into that circle. In the afternoon, that same day, when Pani Celina