Children of the Soil. Henryk Sienkiewicz

would take part in the trip. Aside from reasons connected with Marynia, he rejoiced from his whole soul to see the beloved faces of Pani Emilia and Litka, who were his greatest attachments in life so far.

      That same evening he wrote a few words to Plavitski touching the arrival, supposing that Marynia would be thankful for that information; he gave notice at Pani Emilia’s, so that servants would be waiting in the morning with tea; and he hired a commodious carriage to take her and Litka to their home.

      Next morning at five he was at the station; while waiting for the train, he began to run briskly along the platform to warm himself somewhat, since the morning was cool. Remote objects, the station buildings, and the cars standing on the near rails, were sunk in fog, which, very dense near the ground, became rose-colored and shining higher up, announcing that the day would be pleasant. Except officials and servants, there was no one on the platform yet, because of the early hour; gradually, however, people began to arrive. All at once two forms came out of the fog; in one of these Pan Stanislav, with beating heart, recognized Marynia, who was hastening, with her maid, to greet Pani Emilia. As he had not expected the meeting, he was greatly confused at the first moment. She stopped short, as if astonished or troubled. After a while, however, he approached and extended his hand to her,—

      “Good-day!” said he. “And truly it will be a good day for us both if our travellers arrive.”

      “Then is it not certain?” asked Marynia.

      “Of course it is certain, unless something unlooked for prevents. I received a despatch yesterday, and sent the news to Pan Plavitski, thinking that you would be glad to hear it.”

      “Thank you. The surprise was so pleasant!”

      “The best proof of that is that you have risen so early.”

      “I have not lost the habit of early rising yet.”

      “We came too soon. The train will arrive only in half an hour. Meanwhile I advise you to walk, for the morning is cool, though the day promises to be fine.”

      “The fog is clearing,” said Marynia, raising her blue eyes, which to Pan Stanislav seemed violet in the light of the morning.

      “Do you wish to walk along the platform?”

      “Thank you; I prefer to sit in the waiting-room.”

      And, nodding, she went away. Pan Stanislav began to fly with hurried steps along the platform. It was somewhat bitter to think that she would not remain; but he explained to himself that perhaps this was not proper, and, besides, the bitterness was overcome by the pleasant thought of how the coming of Pani Emilia would bring them nearer, and how many meetings it would cause. A certain wonderful solace and good-humor continued to rise in him. He thought of the violet eyes of Marynia, and her face made rosy by the coolness of the morning; he rushed past the windows of the hall in which she was sitting, and said to himself almost joyfully,—

      “Ah, ha! sit there, hide thyself! I will find thee.” And he felt with greater force than ever how dear she might become to him, if she would be kind even in a small degree. Meanwhile bells sounded; and a few minutes later, in the fog, still dense at the earth, though the sky above was blue, appeared the dim outlines of the train, which, as it approached, became more clearly defined. The engine, puffing interrupted clumps of smoke, rolled in with decreasing movement, and, stopping, began with noise and hissing to belch forth under its front wheels the useless remnant of steam.

      Pan Stanislav sprang to the sleeping-car; the first face at the window was Litka’s, which at sight of him grew as radiant as if a sudden sunbeam had fallen on it. The little girl’s hands began to move joyously, beckoning to Pan Stanislav, who was in the car in one moment.

      “My dearest little kitten!” cried he, seizing Litka’s hand, “and hast thou slept; art thou well?”

      “I am well; and we have come home. And we’ll be together—and good-day, Pan Stas!”

      Right behind the little girl stood Pani Emilia, whose hand “Pan Stas” kissed very cordially; and he began to speak quickly, as people do at time of greeting,—

      “Good day to the dear lady. I have a carriage. You can go at once. My servant will take your baggage; I ask only for the check. They are waiting for you at home with tea. Pray give the check. Panna Plavitski is here too.”

      Panna Plavitski was waiting, in fact, outside the car; and she and Pani Emilia shook hands, with faces full of smiles. Litka looked for a moment at Marynia, as if hesitating; after a while, however, she threw herself on her neck with her usual cordiality.

      “Marynia, thou wilt go with us to tea,” said Pani Emilia. “It is ready, and thou art fasting, of course.”

      “Thou art tired, travelling all night.”

      “From the boundary we slept as if killed; and when we woke, we had time to wash and dress. In every case we must drink tea. Thou wilt go with us?”

      “I will, with the greatest pleasure.”

      But Litka began to pull at her mother’s dress.

      “Mamma, and Pan Stas.”

      “But, naturally, Pan Stas too,—he thought of everything. Thanks to him, everything is ready. He must go with us, of course.”

      “He must; he must!” cried Litka, turning to Pan Stanislav, who answered, smiling,—

      “Not he must; but he wants to.”

      And after a moment all four took their places in the carriage. Pan Stanislav was in excellent humor. Marynia was before him, and at his side little Litka. It seemed to him that the morning brightness was entering him, and that better days were beginning. He felt that henceforth he would belong to an intimate circle of beings bound together by comradeship and friendship, and in that circle would be Marynia. Now she was sitting there before him, near his eye, and near the friendship which both felt for Pani Emilia and Litka. Meanwhile all four were talking joyously.

      “What has happened, Emilka,” asked Marynia, “that thou hast come so soon?”

      “Litka begged so every day to come home.”

      “Dost not like to live abroad?” asked Pan Stanislav.

      “No.”

      “Homesick for Warsaw?”

      “Yes.”

      “And for me? Now tell quickly, or it will be bad.”

      Litka looked at her mother, at Marynia, and then at Pan Stanislav; and at last she said,—

      “And for Pan Stas too.”

      “Take this for that!” said Pan Stanislav, and he seized her little hand to kiss it; but she defended herself as she could. At last she hid her hand. He, turning to Marynia, and showing his sound white teeth, said,—

      “As you see, we are always quarrelling; but we love each other.”

      “That is the way generally,” answered Marynia.

      And he, looking her straight and honestly in the eyes, said,—

      “Oh that it were the way generally!”

      Marynia blushed slightly and grew more serious, but said nothing, and began to converse with Pani Emilia.

      Pan Stanislav turned to Litka.

      “But where is Professor Vaskovski? Has he gone to Italy?”

      “No. He stopped at Chenstohova, and will come the day after to-morrow.”

      “Is he well?”

      “He is.”

      Here the little girl looked at her friend, and said,—

      “But Pan Stas has grown thin; hasn’t he, mamma?”

      “Indeed he