son-in-law; but she too, I suppose, was
mostly afraid for Aniela. I am strenuously opposed to the doctor's
advice, and do not think I shall ever agree to it. I cannot tell them
one thing,--that Aniela did not love her husband, and that for that
very reason the shock will be more terrible to her.

It is not merely a question of sorrow after the death of a beloved
being, but of the reproaches she will apply to herself, thinking that
if she had loved him more he might have clung more to his life. Empty,
trivial, and unjust reproaches, for she did everything that force
of will could command,--she spurned my love and remained pure and
faithful to him. But one must know that soul full of scruples as I
know it, to gauge the depth of misery into which the news would plunge
her, and how she would suspect herself,--asking whether his death did
not correspond to some deeply hidden desire on her part for freedom
and happiness; whether it did not gratify those wishes she had
scarcely dared to form. My hair seems to rise at the very thought,
because it is his death that opens a new life for her; consequently it
will be a twofold shock,--two blows to fall upon the dear head. This,
neither the doctor, my aunt, nor Pani Celina can understand. No! she
ought not to be told until after the event.

What a misfortune that she cannot go away! Here it is difficult,
almost impossible, to guard her. She will read in our faces what has
happened. The least word, the least glance will rouse her suspicion,
and she will fancy all sorts of things. To-day she was surprised by
the sudden arrival of the doctor. Pani Celina told me she had inquired
why he was sent for and whether she was in any danger. Fortunately, my
aunt, always ready for any emergency, said that it was the usual thing
in such a case to call in the doctor from time to time. Aniela has no
experience, and believed her at once. How shall I be able to persuade
the servants not to look so mysterious? They already guess that
something is the matter, from my warnings and cautionings, and they
will know all about it in time. I cannot dismiss them all. The
frequent telegrams are enough to excite their curiosity. To-day I had
another telegram from Chwastowski at Baku, with the inquiry what he is
to do with the body. I replied that he should bury it there for the
present. I asked the elder Chwastowski to take it to Warsaw, and sent
a money order by telegraph. I do not know even whether such an or