The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [180]
‘Fearful heat!’ Tomasz muttered.
The horses stopped in front of the house, Tomasz got out and went upstairs without even nodding to the driver. He could hardly move his heavy legs and when he reached his study he fell into a chair with his hat on, and sat thus for a few minutes much to the amazement of the servant, who saw fit to call his mistress.
‘The business must have gone well,’ he said to Izabela, ‘for His Excellency is … sort of …’
Despite her apparent lack of interest, Izabela had been awaiting her father’s return and the result of the auction with the utmost impatience, and she went to his study as quickly as was appropriate to good manners. For she always bore in mind that a young lady with her surname was not supposed to betray her feelings, even in the face of bankruptcy. Yet for all her self-control Mikołaj saw (from the bright flush on her cheeks) that she was excited and added once again in an undertone: ‘Oh, the business must have gone well, because His Excellency … him …’
Izabela wrinkled up her beautiful brows and slammed the study door behind her. Her father was still sitting there with his hat on: ‘What’s the matter, father?’ she asked with a touch of distaste, looking at his bloodshot eyes.
‘Misfortune … ruin …’ Tomasz replied, taking off his hat with some difficulty, ‘I have lost thirty thousand roubles.’
Izabela went white and sat down on the leather chaise-longue.
‘A wretched Jew, a usurer, frightened away competition, bribed my lawyer, and …’
‘So we have nothing?’ she murmured.
‘How so, nothing? We still have thirty thousand, and ten thousand a year interest on it. That excellent Wokulski! I had no idea that such nobility existed … And you should have seen how he took care of me today.’
‘Took care of you? Why?’
‘I had a slight attack due to the heat and my vexation …’
‘What sort of attack?’
‘The blood ran to my head … but it is better now. Wretched Jew … but Wokulski — it was something quite unusual, I assure you.’ He burst into tears.
‘Papa, what’s wrong? I’ll send for the doctor,’ Izabela exclaimed, kneeling down by his chair.
‘No, it’s nothing … calm yourself … But it crossed my mind that if I were to die, Wokulski is the only man you would be able to trust …’
‘I don’t understand you.’
‘You mean you don’t recognise me, isn’t that it? You’re surprised I could entrust your fate to a tradesman. But d’you see … when some people have plotted against us in our misfortune, others have deserted us, he hastened to assist and perhaps even saved my life … We apoplectics sometimes pass very close to death … so when it got me, I asked myself who would look after you. Joanna wouldn’t, nor Hortensia, no one … Only wealthy orphans can find guardians.’
Seeing that her father was slowly regaining his strength and self-control, Izabela rose from her knees and sat down on the chaise-longue: ‘What part do you intend this gentleman to play?’ she inquired coldly.
‘Part?’ he echoed, eyeing her attentively, ‘the part … of an adviser … a friend of the family, a guardian. The guardian of the small estate that will be left to you.’
‘Oh, I have already long since estimated his value in that respect. He is an energetic man and attached to us. But less of that,’ she added after a moment, ‘how did you finish off the business of the house?’
‘I’ll tell you. A scoundrel of a Jew paid ninety thousand, so we have thirty thousand left. But since honest Wokulski is going to pay me ten thousand a year on this sum … Thirty-three per cent, imagine that!’
‘Thirty-three, how so?’ Izabela interrupted, ‘ten thousand is ten per cent …’
‘Not at