The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [190]
‘Yes. Allow me,’ Wokulski said, taking a thick packet from his pocket, ‘to hand you the money.’
‘Well, really …’
‘Here are five thousand roubles interest till mid-January. Please count it. And here is the receipt.’
Mr Łęcki counted the bundle of new hundred-rouble notes several times, then signed. As he put the pen down he said: ‘Good, that is one thing over. And now for the debts …’
‘The amount of two or three thousand, which you owe the Jews, will be paid today …’
‘But, my dear Stanisław I don’t want it for nothing … Pray deduct your interest very precisely …’
‘A hundred and twenty to a hundred and eighty roubles a year …’
‘Yes, yes …’ Tomasz agreed, ‘but supposing I were to need a small sum, then could I send someone to you …?’
‘You will receive the other half of the interest in mid-January,’ Wokulski replied.
‘I know. But, Stanisław, supposing I were to require a part of my capital? Not for nothing, of course … I would gladly pay interest.’
‘Six per cent,’ Wokulski interposed.
‘Yes, six or … seven per cent.’
‘No, sir. Your capital will bring in thirty-three per cent annually, so I cannot lend it at seven per cent.’
‘Very well. In that case, do not dispose of my capital, but … you see, something may occur to …’
‘You can withdraw your capital in mid-January, next year …’
‘God forbid! I won’t withdraw my capital from you, not even for ten years.’
‘But I have taken your capital for only a year.’
‘How is that? Why?’ Tomasz asked, opening his eyes wider and wider.
‘Because I can’t tell what will happen a year from today. Such opportunities do not occur every year.’
‘By the way,’ said Tomasz, after a moment of disagreeable consideration, ‘what on earth is this they’re saying in town — that you, Mr Wokulski, have bought my house?’
‘Yes, sir, it was I who bought your house. But I can sell it back to you on favourable terms within six months.’
Mr Łęcki felt himself flush. Not wishing, however, to relinquish his game, he asked in a lordly manner: ‘And how much would you ask for selling it back, Mr Wokulski?’
‘Nothing. I’ll resell it for ninety thousand or even … less, perhaps.’
Tomasz withdrew, folded his arms, then sank into his great armchair and again some tears flowed down his face: ‘Really, Stanisław,’ he sobbed slightly, ‘I see that the finest relations can be spoiled by … money. Am I vexed with you for buying the house? Have I complained? Yet you speak to me as though you were offended.’
‘Excuse me,’ Wokulski interrupted, ‘but as a matter of fact I am somewhat irritable … The heat, no doubt.’
‘Of course,’ Tomasz exclaimed, rising and pressing his hand, ‘so — let us forgive one another these sharp words … I am not angry with you, for I know … it is the heat.’
Wokulski bade him goodbye and stepped into the drawing-room. Starski had already left, Izabela was sitting there alone. Seeing him, she rose. Her face was more serene: ‘Are you leaving?’
‘I wanted to say goodbye.’
‘And you won’t forget Rossi?’ she said with a faint smile.
‘No. I will see that the wreath be given him.’
‘Will you not hand it to him yourself? Why not?’
‘I am leaving for Paris tonight,’ Wokulski replied.
He bowed and went out.
For a moment Izabela stood amazed, then she hurried into her father’s room: ‘What does this mean, papa? Mr Wokulski said goodbye to me very coldly and says that — tonight he is leaving for Paris!’
‘What? What? What?’ Tomasz exclaimed, clutching his head with both hands, ‘he must have taken offence …’
‘Ah, of course … I mentioned to him the purchase of our house …’
‘Good God! It was you … All is lost! Now I understand … Of course he was offended. Well,’ he added after a moment, ‘who’d have thought him so touchy? Such a commonplace tradesman …’
XX
The Journal of the Old Clerk
SO HE HAS left! Stanisław Wokulski — great organiser of a transport company, great director of a firm which has a turnover of some four millions a year — has left for Paris like any postilion for Miłosna … One day he says (to me in person) that he doesn’t know when he