der
can be sent from Warsaw to Baku.

To-day I looked through the papers. In two of them there was a
paragraph about Kromitzki's death. If that is young Chwastowski's
doing, he must be mad. The servants know everything. Their faces are
such that I am surprised Aniela does not suspect something. During
dinner she was cheerful and unusually lively. The doctor's presence is
a great relief to me. Kromitzki is nothing to him. He engages Aniela's
attention, makes jokes, and teaches her to play chess. Pani Celina,
on the contrary, reduces me to despair. The merrier Aniela grew, the
longer and more funereal became her mother's countenance. I spoke to
her about it rather sharply.

14 November.

We are all at Warsaw. They told Aniela that hot-water pipes were to be
laid in all the rooms at Ploszow, and so, to avoid the general upset
and discomfort, we all intended to go to Warsaw. The drive tired her
very much; but I am glad we are here, for I can rely upon my servants.
The house is a little in disorder. A great many pictures are already
unpacked. Aniela, in spite of being tired, wanted to see them, and I
acted as cicerone. I told her that it was my greatest wish to be at
some time her cicerone at Rome, and she replied, with a shade of
sadness:--

"I, too, often dream of seeing Rome, but sometimes I think that I
shall never go there."

Her words caused me a twinge of anguish, for I am afraid of
everything, even presentiments, and am ready to see in every word a
forecast of evil.

"I promise you shall go to Rome and stop there as long as you like," I
replied cheerfully.

It is strange how easily human nature adapts itself to a new position
and exercises its rights. Involuntarily I look upon Aniela as my own,
and guard her as my property.

The doctor was right. We did well to come to Warsaw,--firstly, because
in case of any sudden emergency there is help at hand; secondly, we
are not obliged to receive visitors. At Ploszow we could not have
avoided that, as it is impossible to turn away a visitor from one's
own gates; and probably a great many would have come with condolences.
Finally, at Ploszow there existed already a mysterious, heavy
atmosphere, in which my efforts to give the conversation a light and
cheerful turn appeared unnatural. I suppose this cannot be avoided
even here, but Aniela's mind will be occupied with hundreds of little
sensations, and be less observant of any slight changes in her
surroundings th