The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [59]
‘I am at your service.’
‘Recently you dismissed one of your…employees, a certain Mraczewski…’
‘Why was that?’ Izabela suddenly exclaimed.
‘I don’t know,’ said the Countess. ‘Apparently it was to do with a difference in political opinions or something of the sort…’
‘So that young man has opinions?’ Izabela exclaimed. ‘Interesting!’
She said this in such a diverting fashion that Wokulski felt his dislike for Mraczewski diminish. ‘It was not his opinions that were in question, Countess,’ he said, ‘but his tactless comments on customers in our shop.’
‘Perhaps the customers themselves behaved tactlessly,’ Izabela put in.
‘That is their privilege, they pay for it,’ Wokulski replied calmly. ‘We do not.’
A strong flush appeared on Izabela’s face. She picked up her book and began reading.
‘However that may be, let me persuade you to be merciful,’ said the Countess. ‘I know the boy’s mother, and believe me it is pitiful to see her despair…’
Wokulski pondered. ‘Very well,’ he replied, ‘I’ll give him a position, but in Moscow.’
‘And his poor mother?’ asked the Countess, imploringly.
‘I’ll increase his wages by two—three hundred roubles,’ he replied.
At this moment some children approached the table, and the Countess began distributing sacred pictures. Wokulski rose from his chair and, to avoid interrupting the pious occupation of the Countess, went across to Izabela.
Izabela looked up from her book and, gazing strangely at Wokulski, asked: ‘Do you never change your mind?’
‘No,’ he replied. But at that moment he lowered his gaze.
‘Suppose I were to plead for this young man?’
Wokulski glanced at her in surprise. ‘In that case, I would reply that Mr Mraczewski lost his position because he spoke indiscreetly of persons who had honoured him by their condescension… However, if you order…’
Now Izabela lowered her eyes, highly confused.
‘Oh…oh, it is all the same to me where this young man goes. He may as well go to Moscow.’
‘So he will,’ Wokulski replied. ‘Pray accept my respects, ladies,’ he added, bowing.
The Countess gave him her hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Wokulski, for remembering us, and please come to me for the Easter meal. Please do, Mr Wokulski,’ she added, with emphasis.
Suddenly catching sight of movement inside the church, she turned to the servant. ‘Ksawery, please go to the Duchess and ask her to allow us the use of her carriage. Say our horse is sick.’
‘For when, your ladyship?’ asked the servant.
‘In an hour and a half…Bela, we shan’t stay longer, shall we?’ The servant went across to a table by the door.
‘So until tomorrow, Mr Wokulski,’ said the Countess. ‘You will meet many acquaintances at my house. There will be some gentlemen from the Charitable Society…’
‘Hm…’ Wokulski thought as he said goodbye to the Countess. However, he felt so grateful to her that he would have devoted half his fortune to her cause just then.
Izabela nodded distantly to him and again glanced at him in a manner which struck him as unusual. But when Wokulski had disappeared into the obscurity of the church, she said to the Countess: ‘You were flirting with that man, aunt. Really, it is beginning to look rather suspicious…’
‘Your father is right,’ the Countess replied, ‘this man can be useful. Anyhow, such social relations are comme il faut abroad.’
‘What if they turn his head?’ Izabela asked.
‘That would prove he had a weak head,’ the Countess replied shortly, reading her prayer-book.
Wokulski did not leave the church, but turned into a side nave near the door. Just by Christ’s Grave, opposite the Countess’s table, an empty confessional stood in one corner. Wokulski went into it, shut the door and began unseen to watch Izabela.
She was holding a book, glancing now and then towards the church door. Weariness and boredom were depicted in her face. Sometimes children approached the table for pictures; Izabela herself distributed a few, with a gesture which said: ‘Oh, when will this end?’
‘She is doing all this not out of piety or love for children, but for notice and to acquire a husband,’ Wokulski thought. ‘Well,