The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [267]
‘Yet you are very fond of Mr Wokulski,’ Izabela murmured.
‘Yes, indeed,’ the old lady replied firmly, ‘I loved his uncle, all my life I have been unhappy simply because they took me away from him, and for the very same reasons as your aunt has for wanting to despise Wokulski today. But he won’t let himself be trampled underfoot, indeed no!’ said the Duchess. ‘Anyone who can raise himself out of such poverty, who can make himself a fortune without a shadow of reproach, and can educate himself as he has done, need not care a jot for the opinions of drawing-room society. I am sure you know the part he is playing today, and the reason why he went to Paris. I assure you he won’t go to the drawing-rooms, but that they will come to him, and the first will be your aunt, if she wants something. I know the drawing-rooms better than you, my child, and believe me, they will very soon find themselves in Wokulski’s vestibule. He’s no idler like Starski, no dreamer like the Prince, no half-wit like Krzeszowski. He’s a man of action … The woman he chooses for his wife will be happy. Unfortunately, our young ladies are more demanding than they have experience or hearts. Not all, though … But forgive me if I have said anything unkind. Lunch will be ready at once.’
After this, the Duchess went out, leaving Izabela plunged in deep meditation. ‘He could certainly take the Baron’s place,’ Miss Izabela told herself, ‘the Baron is worn out and ridiculous, while people at least respect Wokulski. Kasia Wąsowska knew what she was about when she took him for that ride. Ha, we shall see whether Mr Wokulski can be faithful. He set a fine example of it by going riding with another woman! Very courtly of him!’
Almost at this moment, Wokulski came back from his ride with Mrs Wąsowska, and in the yard he saw the carriage with the horses being taken out. He was touched by some ill-defined premonition, but dared not ask: he even pretended not to see the carriage. He gave his horse to a lad in front of the house, and told another to bring water to his room. Just as he was about to inquire who had arrived, something stuck in his throat, and he could not utter a word. ‘What folly,’ he thought, ‘even if it’s she, what of that? She’s a woman like Mrs Wąsowska, Felicja, Ewelina … And I am not like the Baron.’
But, thinking this, he felt that to him she was different from other women, and that if she were to ask him to, he would lay his fortune, even his life, at her feet. ‘Folly! Folly!’ he whispered, walking about his room, ‘after all, here’s her admirer Starski, with whom she agreed to spend a gay holiday. I recall those glances …’
Anger seethed inside him. ‘Let us see, Izabela, what you are, and what you’re worth! Now I’ll be your judge,’ he thought.
Someone knocked, an old footman came in. He glanced around the room and said, in a subdued voice: ‘Her Grace told me to say Miss Łęcka is here, and that if you are ready, luncheon is served.’
‘Tell Her Grace I am coming at once,’ Wokulski replied.
When the servant had gone, he stood a moment at the window, looking into the park illuminated by slanting sun-rays, and at a lilac tree, on which birds were cheerfully chirruping. He gazed, but a dull fear imbued his heart as he wondered how he would greet Izabela: ‘What shall I say, how will I look?’ It seemed to him that all eyes would be upon them both, and that he would compromise himself by some tactless act: ‘Didn’t I tell her I’m the faithful servant of them both … like a dog! But I must go down …’
He left the room, returned, then once more entered the corridor. He approached the door slowly, step by step, feeling