The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [210]
‘Oh, certainly …’
‘But they need cleaning.’
‘Yes, so they do,’ said the agent.
‘And I think,’ I added, ‘that this young man will keep his word regarding not paying rent?’
‘Sir, that’s nothing,’ the agent exclaimed, ‘he says he won’t pay, and he doesn’t; but the other two don’t say anything and don’t pay either. They’re extraordinary tenants, Mr Rzecki …But they never let me down.’
I shook my head involuntarily, though I felt that if I were the landlord of such a house, I’d be shaking my head all day long. ‘So no one here pays, or at least not regularly?’ I asked the former landowner.
‘That’s not surprising,’ Mr Wirski replied, ‘in a house where the rent has been collected for so many years by creditors, the most honest tenant grows spoiled. Nevertheless, we have some regular ones, such as Baroness Krzeszowska, for instance.’
‘Who?’ I exclaimed, ‘ah, yes the Baroness lives here …She even wanted to buy the house.’
‘And she will,’ the agent whispered, ‘unless you gentlemen hold fast. She’ll buy it even if it costs her entire fortune. And it’s a good-sized fortune, though the Baron has demolished it greatly.’
I was still standing halfway down the stairs, under a window with red, green and blue panes. I was recollecting the Baroness, whom I had only seen a few times in my life, and who had always struck me as a very eccentric person. She knew how to be pious and stubborn, humble and vulgar, at one and the same time …
‘What sort of person is she, Mr Wirski?’ I asked.
‘She’s an unusual person, sir …Like all hysterical females,’ the former landowner muttered, ‘she lost her daughter, her husband left her …Nothing but angry scenes.’
‘Let us call on her, sir,’ I said, going down to the second floor. I felt so bold that the idea of the Baroness did not alarm me, but almost attracted me. But when we stopped at her door and the agent rang, I felt a cramp in my calves. I was rooted to the spot, and that was the only reason why I didn’t bolt. In a moment my courage left me, and I recalled the scenes at the auction.
A key turned, the latch clattered and the face of a young girl, wearing a white cap, appeared in the half-open door: ‘Who is it?’ the girl asked.
‘Me, the agent.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I’m here with the owner’s representative.’
‘And what does he want?’
‘He’s the representative …’
‘Who am I to say, then?’
‘Tell your mistress,’ said the agent, by now rather irritated, ‘that we have come to discuss the apartment.’
‘Aha …’
She closed the door and went away. Some two or three minutes passed before she came back and, after unlocking several locks, showed us into an empty drawing-room.
This drawing-room had a strange appearance. The furniture was draped with ash-coloured coverings, so was the piano and the chandelier suspended from the ceiling: even the columns in corners, holding statues, wore the same ash-coloured garments. All in all, it gave the impression of a room whose owner had gone away, leaving behind only servants who were most meticulous about tidiness.
Beyond the door a conversation between a woman’s and a man’s voice was audible. The woman’s voice was that of the Baroness: I recognised that of the man, but could not place it.
‘I could swear,’ said the Baroness, ‘he maintains relations with her. The other day he sent her a bouquet by special messenger …’
‘Hm …hm …’ the other man’s voice interposed.
‘A bouquet which that detestable coquette has thrown out of the window, on purpose to deceive me …’
‘Yet the Baron is in the country, far from Warsaw,’ the man replied.
‘But he has friends here,’ the Baroness cried, ‘and if I didn’t know you, I’d suspect that you were the go-between for these shameful acts.’
‘But, madam …’ the man’s voice protested, and at this moment the sound of two kisses were heard, on the hand, I believe.
‘Come, Mr Maruszewicz, none of your sentimentality! I know your kind! You smother