The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [69]
Wokulski roused himself and gazed wide-eyed into the distance.
‘What is the matter?’ the Duchess asked.
‘Nothing,’ he replied with a smile, ‘death just looked into my eyes.’
‘That should not surprise you; death is very near an old woman like me, so my neighbours cannot help seeing it. But you will do as I ask?’
‘Yes.’
‘Call on me after the holiday and…come often. Perhaps you will find it tedious, but even I perhaps, infirm as I am, may be useful to you in some way. Now, be off with you, be off…’
Wokulski kissed her hand, she kissed his forehead several times, then touched the bell. A servant entered. ‘Take this gentleman to the drawing-room,’ she said.
Wokulski was stunned. He did not know which way he was going, did not realise what he had been talking about with the Duchess. He only sensed that he was in a maze of huge chambers, ancient portraits, soft footfalls, undefined perfume. He was surrounded by costly furniture, people of great sensibility and taste such as he had never dreamed of. But above all this, the presence of that aristocratic old woman wafted like a poem, imbued with sighs and tears.
‘What kind of a world is this? What kind of a world?’
Yet he felt the absence of something. He wanted to look upon Izabela once more. ‘Well, I will see her in the drawing-room…’
The footman opened the door to the drawing-room. Again, all heads turned towards him and talk died down like the rustle of a bird flying away. A moment of silence followed in which everyone looked at Wokulski, but he saw no one, only sought feverishly for that pale blue gown. ‘She isn’t here…’ he thought.
‘Just look how unconcerned he is by all of us,’ whispered the old man with grey whiskers, smiling.
‘She must be in the second drawing-room,’ Wokulski told himself.
He caught sight of the Countess, and went over to her.
‘Well, have you finished your conference?’ the Countess inquired. ‘The Duchess is a charming person, is she not?… You have a true friend in her, though not more than you have in me. Let me introduce you…Mr Wokulski!’ she added, turning to the lady in diamonds.
‘I will come to the point immediately,’ said the lady, looking at him loftily. ‘Our orphans need several rolls of linen…’ The Countess blushed slightly.
‘Only several?’ Wokulski echoed, and he looked at the lady’s diamonds, which represented the value of several hundred rolls of the very finest quality linen. ‘After the holiday,’ he went on, ‘I will have the honour of sending you the linen by the Countess.’
He bowed as if anxious to depart: ‘You wish to say goodbye to us?’ the Countess asked, somewhat embarrassed.
‘But he is impertinent!’ said the lady in diamonds to her companion in peacock feathers.
‘Goodbye, Countess, and thank you for the honour you have been kind enough to confer on me,’ said Wokulski, kissing the hand of his hostess.
‘But it is only au revoir, Mr Wokulski, isn’t it? We shall have a great deal of business together.’
Izabela was not in the second drawing-room either. Wokulski felt uneasy: ‘I must see her… Who knows how long it will be before we meet again under such circumstances…’
‘Ah, there you are,’ the Prince cried. ‘Now I know just what sort of a plot you and Łęcki have been hatching. A company for trading with the East—an excellent notion. You must let me in on it… We must get better acquainted…’ But seeing that Wokulski said nothing, he added: ‘I’m a great bore, Mr Wokulski, am I not? But that cannot be helped: you must join us; you and the likes of you—and we shall forge ahead together. Your firms are coats of arms, while our coats of arms are also firms which provide a guarantee of honesty in business dealings…’
They shook hands and Wokulski said something, though without knowing what. His uneasiness was mounting: he sought Izabela in vain.
‘Surely she is further on,’ he whispered fearfully, going into the last of the drawing-rooms.
Here Mr Łęcki stopped him with signs of unusual affection: ‘Are you leaving