The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [167]
‘You mean Staś—our boss—would make ten thousand roubles?’ Rzecki asked.
‘Of course! But now that he’s grown so silly…’
‘Oh come, Mr Mraczewski,’ said Ignacy threateningly.
‘Upon my word, he has! For I know he’s going to the Paris Exhibition any week now.’
‘Yes, that’s so.’
‘So why doesn’t he choose to go with Suzin, without spending his own money, and he’d make so much into the bargain. For two weeks Suzin has been begging him: “Come with me, Stanisław Piotrowicz!” He begged and prayed, but all in vain. Wokulski just won’t…He says he has some business here…’
‘Well, so he has,’ Rzecki interrupted.
‘Has he, though?’ Mraczewski mocked him, ‘his main business is not to vex Suzin, who helped him make a fortune, allows him huge credit and sometimes said to me he would not settle down until Stanisław Piotrowicz had made at least a million roubles. And to refuse such a friend such a small favour, when it’s well paid into the bargain!’ Mraczewski burst out.
Ignacy opened his mouth, then bit his lip. At this moment he very nearly said that Wokulski was buying the Łęcki house, and had given Rossi expensive gifts.
Klein and Lisiecki approached the cash-desk. As they were not busy, Mraczewski began talking to them, and Ignacy was again left alone over his ledger. ‘What a misfortune,’ he thought, ‘why doesn’t Staś go to Paris for nothing, and when Suzin asks him to? Some evil spirit has bound him to these Łęckis. Can it possibly be true that…? No, he isn’t so stupid…All the same, it’s a pity about the trip and the ten thousand roubles…My goodness, how people change, to be sure…’
He bowed his head and, his finger moving up and down, added up columns of figures as long as Nowy Świat and Krakowskie Przedmieście. He calculated without making a single error, though he softly muttered and at the same time thought to himself that his Staś was on the brink of some fatal precipice.
‘It’s all in vain,’ a voice hidden in the very depths of his soul whispered to him, ‘Staś has got himself involved in some important affair…It must be political, for a man like that wouldn’t go off his head for a woman, even if she were that Miss…herself…Oh, for goodness sake, I’ve made a mistake…He refuses, he despises ten thousand roubles—he who eight years ago had to borrow ten roubles a month from me to eat like a beggar…And now he’s throwing away ten thousand, bricking up ninety thousand, making presents worth dozens of roubles to actors…For goodness sake, I don’t understand it at all! And yet he’s supposed to be a positivist, a man who thinks realistically…They call me an old romantic, yet I wouldn’t commit such follies…Well, however, if he has got himself involved in politics…’
These meditations filled in the time until the closing of the store. His head ached a little, so he went for a stroll to Nowy Zjazd, and went to bed early when he reached home.
‘Tomorrow,’ he told himself, ‘I’ll find out what is really going on. If Szlangbaum buys the Łęcki house and pays ninety thousand roubles, that will mean Staś has really supplied him and is already completely off his head. But what if Staś don’t buy the house, what if it’s only gossip?’
He fell asleep and dreamed he saw Izabela in the window of a big house, and Wokulski, who was beside him, wanted to hurry to her. Ignacy tried to prevent him in vain, until sweat bathed his entire body. Wokulski tore himself away and disappeared into the gateway of the house. ‘Staś, come back!’ Ignacy cried, seeing the house begin to collapse. And in fact, it caved in altogether. Izabela, smiling, flew out of it like a bird, but there was no trace of Wokulski.
‘Perhaps he ran into the yard, and is safe,’ thought Ignacy and he woke up with his heart beating fiercely.
Next morning, Ignacy awoke a few minutes before six; he recalled that this was the