The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [42]
‘Drive around the town, my angel,’ said the Countess, kissing her niece, ‘and make your purchases. Only remember that during the collection you must look charming … as charming as only you know how … I beg you …’
Izabela made no reply, but her gaze made it evident that she was only too glad to indulge her aunt.
Exactly at eleven on the morning of Holy Wednesday Izabela was already seated in the open carriage with her devoted Flora. Spring breezes were blowing along the Boulevard, wafting that peculiar sharp scent which precedes the bursting out of leaves on the trees and the appearance of the first primroses; the grey grassplots had taken on a greenish tinge; the sun shone so warmly that the ladies put up their parasols.
‘A beautiful day,’ Izabela sighed, looking at the sky that was scattered here and there with white clouds.
‘Where to, madame?’ asked the footman, as he slammed the carriage door.
‘To Wokulski’s shop,’ Izabela replied with nervous haste.
The footman jumped on to his box and the stout bay horses moved off at a ceremonial trot, neighing and tossing their heads.
‘Why Wokulski’s, Bela?’ asked Flora, somewhat startled.
‘I want some French gloves, some perfume …’
‘We could get it elsewhere.’
‘I want to go to Wokulski’s,’ said Izabela drily.
For some days she had been haunted by a peculiar uneasiness which she had already experienced once before in her life. Years ago, in a zoological garden abroad, she had seen a tiger asleep in one of the cages, against the bars in such a way that part of its head and one ear was outside.
Izabela had had an irresistible desire to seize the tiger by that ear. The stench of the cage horrified her, the powerful paws of the animal made her shrink with indescribable fear, but all the same she felt she must at least touch the ear of the tiger.
This strange impulse had struck her as both dangerous and absurd. So she forced herself to go on further; but after a few minutes she had returned. Again she retreated, looked at other cages, tried to think of something else. But in vain. She went back once more, and even though the tiger was no longer asleep, but growling and licking its terrible paws, Izabela had run over to the cage, put out her hand and — trembling, pale — touched the tiger’s ear.
A little later she had been ashamed of her foolishness, but at the same time she felt that bitter satisfaction known to those who obey the voice of instinct in an important matter.
Today she had awakened with a similar longing. She despised Wokulski; her heart faltered at the mere thought that this man might have paid more for the silver than it was worth, yet she felt an irresistible desire to go into his shop, look into Wokulski’s eyes and pay him for a few trifles with the money that had come from him. Fear seized her at the thought of this encounter, but an inexplicable instinct drove her on.
In Krakowskie Przedmieście she caught sight in the distance of the sign ‘J. Mincel & S. Wokulski’ and saw a new, still-unfinished shop with five windows of plate-glass next to it. Several craftsmen and labourers were working there, some wiping the glass from within, others gilding and painting the door and shop-front, yet others putting great brass bars across the windows.
‘What is that shop they are building?’ she asked Flora.
‘It is probably for Wokulski, I hear he has taken a larger site.’
‘That shop is for me!’ thought Izabela, fidgeting with her gloves.
The carriage stopped, the footman jumped down and helped the ladies descend. But when he opened the door into Wokulski’s shop with a crash, Izabela shrank so that her legs almost gave way under her. For a moment she wanted to go back to the carriage and flee; but she controlled herself and went in, her head high.
Rzecki was already standing in the centre of the shop to greet her, rubbing his hands and bowing low. In the depths, Lisiecki was stroking his splendid beard and exhibiting