ircumstance one is ashamed to confess, not wanting to be
regarded as a Philistine. But in this case I wanted to save time. "The
dead ride quick," as the poet says; but lovers ride quicker still.
Besides I should have chosen Angeli in any case, and finally decided
that he should paint Aniela's portrait. As a rule, I do not approve
of portraits in ball dress, but I resolved to have Aniela in a white
dress with violets. I want to have the delusion in looking at her that
she is the Aniela of the never-to-be-forgotten times. I do not want
anything to remind me that she is Pani Kromitzka. And besides, the
dress is dear to me as a memory.

I thought the night would never end, so impatient was I to speak
about it to my aunt. I changed my plan though, for if my aunt had the
portrait painted, she would insist upon a Polish painter. I decided
instead to offer Aniela's likeness to my aunt on her name's-day, which
is towards the end of October. Put in this way, Aniela cannot refuse.
Of course I shall have a copy for myself.

I scarcely slept at all, but look upon it as a satisfactory night, as
all the hours were occupied with these plans. I dozed a little towards
five, but was up and dressed at the stroke of eight. I went to
Straubinger's and sent a telegram to the Vienna Kuenstlerhaus
inquiring whether Angeli was at home, then returned to the villa
and found the ladies at the breakfast-table. I opened fire at once.
"Aniela," I said, "I have come to confess my guilt in regard to you.
Last night instead of sleeping I have disposed of your person, and it
now remains to be seen whether you will consent."

She looked at me with half-frightened eyes. Perhaps she fancied I was
going mad, or that in a fit of despair I had made up my mind to blurt
out the truth before the elder ladies; but seeing my calmness she
asked:--

"How have you disposed of me?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise for you, dear aunt, but I do not see
how it could be done in secret, and so I must tell you what present I
intend to give you for your name's-day;" and I told them what I had in
my mind. My aunt, who has an excellent portrait of me, painted some
years ago, was greatly delighted, and thanked me warmly. I saw that
Aniela was not less pleased, and that was enough for me. There and
then a lively discussion sprung up as to when and by whom the portrait
was to be painted, and the question of dress, so dear to the feminine
heart, had to be gone into with all deta