The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [284]
At breakfast, the Duchess seemed to greet him more affectionately than usual, everyone seemed to be behaving more ceremoniously, Felicja seemed to be gazing at him insistently, as if reproachfully. Then again, after breakfast, it seemed to him that the Duchess made some kind of signal to Mrs Wąsowska. ‘I must be ill,’ he thought.
But he at once recovered, for Miss Izabela declared she wanted to stroll in the park: ‘Does anyone want to accompany me?’ she asked.
Wokulski leapt to his feet, the others remained seated. So he found himself alone in the garden with Izabela, and again the tranquillity he always felt in her presence returned to him. Halfway down an alley, Izabela said: ‘I am very sorry to be leaving Zasławek …’ ‘Sorry?’ Wokulski thought, but she went on quickly, ‘I must leave. My aunt wrote on Wednesday for me to go back, but the Duchess didn’t show me the letter, she kept me here. It wasn’t until a special messenger arrived yesterday …’
‘Are you leaving tomorrow?’ Wokulski asked.
‘Today, after lunch,’ she replied, lowering her gaze.
‘Today!’ he repeated.
They were just passing a fence behind which, in the farm-yard, stood the carriage in which Izabela had come. The coachman was arranging reins around the box. But this time, neither the news nor the preparations for departure made any impression on Wokulski. ‘Well, what of it?’ he thought, ‘anyone who comes, must also leave. It is very natural.’
This calmness surprised even him.
They walked a few more paces under the overhanging branches, then all at once, a terrible despair seized him. He felt that if the carriage for Izabela had driven up at this moment, he would have thrown himself under its wheels to prevent her from leaving. Let the carriage run over him and stop his sufferings once and for all!
Then another wave of calmness descended, and Wokulski wondered where such adolescent thoughts had come from. After all, Miss Izabela had the right to leave when she chose, to go where she chose, and with whom she pleased.
‘Will you be staying with your aunt much longer?’ he asked.
‘A month at most.’
‘A month!’ he repeated, ‘will I at least be permitted to call on you later?’
‘Oh yes, please do,’ she replied, ‘my father is a great friend of yours.’
‘And you?’
She blushed and was silent.
‘You don’t reply,’ said Wokulski, ‘you don’t even guess how dear each of your words is to me, when I hear them so rarely. And now you are leaving without giving me even a shadow of hope.’
‘Perhaps time will help,’ she murmured.
‘If only it would! But in any case, allow me to tell you something, madam. You see, in life, one can find people more amusing than I am, more elegant, with titles, even with larger fortunes. But you will surely not find another attachment like mine. For if love is measured by suffering, then love such as mine has perhaps never before been seen in this world. I haven’t the right to complain to anyone for that. It’s destiny. By what strange paths it has led me to you! How many disasters had to occur before I, a poor lad, was able to acquire an education which lets me speak to you today? What accident drove me to the theatre where I saw you for the first time? And didn’t a series of miracles found the fortune I now possess?
‘When I think of these things, it seems to me I was destined even before birth to meet you. If my poor uncle hadn’t fallen in love as a young man, I wouldn’t be here today. And is it not strange that I myself, instead of amusing myself with women as other men do, have hitherto avoided them and also deliberately waited for one, for you …’
Izabela imperceptibly wiped away a tear. Wokulski, without looking at her, said: ‘Not long ago, when I was in Paris, I had two choices before me. One led to a great invention which might change the history of the world — the other to you. I renounced the first,