The Comedienne. Władysław Stanisław Reymont

had not changed in the least on account of her wealth. She thought of Janina as of a princess. Her one dream was to have for a daughter-in-law a real lady, an aristocrat whose beauty and high birth would dazzle her, for her husband and his money and the respect which the entire neighborhood showed him did not suffice her. She was always conscious of being a peasant and received all honors with a true peasant-like distrust.

      "Andy!" she often said to her son. "Andy, I wish you would marry Miss Orlowska. That's what I call a real lady! When she looks at you, she makes you shudder with awe and wish to fall at her feet and beg some boon of her. … She must be very good for whenever she meets folks in the woods she greets them in God's name, chats with them, and pets the children … another would be incapable of that! Gentle birth will always out. I sent her a basket of mushrooms and when she met me she kissed my hand for it. And she is not lacking in wisdom. Ho! ho! she knows that I have a prize of a son. Andy, marry her. Hurry, and make hay while the sun shines!"

      Andrew would usually laugh at his mother's prattle, kiss her hand, and promise her to settle at once everything according to her wishes.

      "We will have a princess in our house and seat her in state in the parlor! Don't fear, Andy, I will not let her soil her hands with anything. I will wait upon her, serve her, hand her everything she needs; all she has to do is to read French books and play on the piano, for that is what a lady is for!" his mother would add.

      And he was just as much of a peasant as she deep within himself; beneath the smooth veneer of the civilized and educated man seethed a primitive unbridled energy and the desire for a wife—a woman to rule him. This young Hercules, who, when he felt like it, could fling unaided into the wagon two-hundred pound sacks of wheat, and who often had to toil like a common laborer to quell with weariness the riotous tides that often rose in his healthy blood, unexhausted through dozens of generations dreamed of Janina and was vanquished by her beauty and sweetness.

      He now rushed along through the woods like a whirlwind and then flew across the fields, all green with the first vigorous shoots of the spring wheat, to tell his mother of the happiness awaiting him. He knew that he would find her in her favorite room whose walls were adorned with three rows of holy pictures—in gilt frames for that was the only luxury that she allowed herself.

      The station-master, in the meanwhile, finished writing his official report, signed it, made an entry in his journal, placed it in an envelope, addressed it to "the Expeditor of the Station of Bukowiec," and called: "Anthony!"

      A servant appeared at the door.

      "Take this to the dispatcher!" ordered Orlowski.

      The servant took the letter without a word and with the solemnest mien in the world laid it upon a table on the other side of the window. The station-master arose, stretched himself, took off his red cap, and walked over to that table; then he put on an ordinary cap with a red border and with the greatest gravity opened the letter that he had written a moment ago. He read it, wrote on the other side a few lines in reply, again signing his name, and then addressed it to the "Local Station-Master" and had Anthony deliver it to himself.

      All the officials of the railway knew his mania and made merry at his expense. There was no expediter in Bukowiec, hence he performed both functions, that of station-master and dispatcher but at two different tables.

      As the station-master he was his own superior, so he often had moments of truly insane joy when, noticing some error in his accounts, or some omission in his duty as a dispatcher, he would indite a complaint against himself.

      Everybody made fun of him, but he paid no attention and persisted in following his own way, saying in justification: "Order and system are the foundations of everything; if they are lacking, all else fails!"

      Having finished his tasks, he locked all the drawers of his desk, glanced out on the platform, and went to his home. He entered not by way of the anteroom, but through the kitchen, for he had to know all that was going on. He peeped into the stove, gave the fire a jab with the poker, scolded the servant-girl because of some water spilled on the floor, and then proceeded to the dining-room.

      "Where is Jenka?" he asked.

      "Miss Janina will be here in a minute," answered Mrs. Krenska, a sort of housekeeper and duenna in one person, a pretty blonde with expressive features.

      "What are you preparing for dinner?"

      "The Director's favorite dish; chicken fricassee, sorrel soup, and cutlets."

      "Extravagance! By God, what extravagance! Soup and one kind of meat is enough even for a king! You will ruin me!"

      "But Mr. Director … I ordered this meal prepared especially for you, sir—"

      "Bosh! You women have nothing in your heads but fricassees, sweets, and dainties. All that is bosh!"

      "You judge us unfairly, sir; we generally economize more than men do."

      "Aha! You economize so that you can later buy yourselves more fineries … I know, you needn't tell me."

      Mrs. Krenska did not answer, but began to set the table for dinner.

      Just then, Janina entered. She was a girl of about twenty-two, tall, well-formed, and broad-shouldered. Her features were not very regular; she had black eyes, a straight forehead, a trifle too broad, dark eyebrows strongly accented, a Roman nose, and full glowing lips. Her eyes had a deep expression indicating an introspective nature; her lips were tightly drawn together in what seemed to be a semblance of dignity or hidden temper. Two deep lines clouded her clear forehead. Gorgeous, wavy blonde hair, with a reddish tinge, crowned her small round head. Her amber-gold complexion had the mellowness of a ripe peach. There was something strange about her voice: an alto that at times dropped into a deep baritone of almost masculine accents.

      She bowed her head to her father and seated herself on the opposite side of the table.

      "Grzesikiewicz was here to see me to-day," said Orlowski slowly serving the soup, for he always presided over the meals.

      Janina glanced at him calmly.

      "He asked me for your hand, Jenka."

      "What did you tell him, Mr. Director?" quickly interposed Mrs.

       Krenska.

      "That is our affair," he answered sternly. "Our affair … I told him all would be well," he said, turning to Janina. "He will be here to-morrow for dinner and you can talk it over between yourselves."

      "What's the use, father! Since you have told him that all would be well, you can receive him yourself to-morrow and tell him from me that everything is far from well. … I do not wish to speak with him. To-morrow I will go to Kielce!"

      "Bosh! If you were not a crazy fool, you would understand what an excellent husband he would make for you! Even though Grzesikiewicz is a peasant he's worth more to you than a prince, for he wants you … and he wants you because he's a fool. He could afford to take his pick of the best. … You ought to be grateful to him for choosing you. He will propose to you to-morrow and in a month from now you will be Mrs. Grzesikiewicz."

      "I will not be his wife! If he can get another, let him do so."

      "I swear to God that you will be Mrs. Grzesikiewicz!"

      "No! I will not have him or anyone else! I will not marry!"

      "Fool!" he retorted brutally. "You will marry because you need a roof over your head, food and dress, and someone to look after you. … I don't intend to ruin myself completely for your sake … and when I am gone, what then?"

      "I have my dower; I will get along without the aid of Grzesikiewicz or anyone like him. Aha, so your object in wanting to marry me is simply to provide for my support!" She regarded him defiantly.

      "And what of it? For what else do women marry?" "They marry for love and marry those whom they love."

      "You're a fool, I tell you once again," he shouted vehemently, helping himself to another portion of chicken. "Love is nothing but this sauce,