The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [350]
‘At Stepek’s café, I believe…I should like to put away the things, but I don’t see either my master’s study, nor a room for me.’
‘Wait a moment,’ cried the Baroness feverishly, ‘Marysia will move out of the kitchen, and you can…’
‘Me in the kitchen, madam?’ asked the gentleman named Leon, ‘surely madam is joking? According to my agreement with His Excellency, I am to have my own room.’
The Baroness became embarrassed. ‘What am I saying?’ she exclaimed, ‘will you, Leon, move into the third floor for the time being, into the apartment that used to be the students.’
‘Now I understand you,’ Leon replied, ‘if there are several rooms, I might even live with the chef.’
‘What chef?’
‘Surely Your Excellencies can’t do without a chef? Take the things upstairs,’ he turned to the porters.
‘What are you doing?’ the Baroness shrieked, seeing them collecting all the trunks and bags.
‘They’re taking my things. Carry on!’ Leon commanded.
‘And His Excellency’s?’
‘Oh, here you are,’ the servant replied, handing Marysia the valise and umbrella.
‘But the bed-linen? His clothes? His things?’ the Baroness cried, wringing her hands.
‘Pray don’t create a scene in front of the servants, madam,’ said Leon threateningly, ‘His Excellency should have all those things at home.’
‘That’s so, that’s so,’ whispered the Baroness, mortified.
Once installed upstairs, whither they still had to bring a bed, table, some chairs and a wash-basin with a jug of water, Mr Leon put on his tail-coat, white tie, a clean shirt (a trifle too small for him), went back to the Baroness and sat himself down gravely in the hall. ‘Within a half hour,’ he told Marysia, looking at his gold watch, ‘His Excellency should be here, for he has a nap every day between four and five o’clock. Well, now, miss—are you bored here?’ he added, ‘if so, I’ll liven you up…’
‘Marysia, come here!’ called the Baroness, from her room.
‘Why are you rushing off, miss?’ Leon inquired, ‘will the old girl’s business vanish, then? Let her wait a bit.’
‘I dare not, she’s terrible when she’s angry,’ whispered Marysia, breaking away from him.
‘That’s because you spoiled her. They’ll bang nails into your head if you let them. You’ll find things easier with the Baron, he’s a connoisseur. But you’ll have to dress different, not like a school ma’am. We don’t like nuns.’
‘Marysia! Marysia!’
‘Well, run along, but take it easy,’ Leon advised.
Despite Leon’s prediction, the Baron arrived at his wife’s apartment nearer five than four. He wore a new frock-coat and fresh hat and carried a cane with a silver horse-shoe in his hand. His expression was calm, but his faithful servant saw powerful emotion underneath. While still in the hall, the Baron’s eye-glasses fell off twice and his left cheek twitched a great deal more than it had done before the duel, or when he’d been struck with a billiard cue: ‘Announce me to Her Excellency,’ he said in a somewhat stifled voice. Leon opened the drawing-room door and almost threateningly cried: ‘His Excellency!’
And when the Baron had gone in, he shut the door, sent away Marysia, who had hurried out of the kitchen—and began eaves-dropping.
The Baroness, seated on the sofa with a book, rose on seeing her husband. When the Baron made a deep bow, she wanted to curtsy back, but sank on the sofa instead. ‘My husband…’ she whispered, covering her face. ‘Oh! What have you been doing?’
‘I am very sorry,’ said the Baron, bowing a second time, ‘to pay my respects to you in such circumstances.’
‘I am ready to forgive all, if…’
‘That is very gratifying to us both,’ the Baron interrupted, ‘for I too am ready to overlook everything concerning myself. Unfortunately, you have deigned to take advantage of my good name which, although not marked in the history of the world by anything remarkable, yet deserves to be spared that.’
‘Your name?’ the Baroness repeated.
‘Yes, madam,’ replied the Baron, bowing for the third time, his hat still in his hand. ‘Forgive me for mentioning this painful matter, but…for some time past, my name has been