"Yes, always somewhere somebody leaves something to somebody." Here he sighed, and after a while added, "But to me no one leaves anything, anywhere, at any time." Suddenly an idea equally cruel and empty occurred to Pan Stanislav on a sudden to cheer up Plavitski; therefore he said,-- "Ai! she died in Rome; but the will here was written long ago, and before that one there was another altogether different, as people tell me. Who knows that in Rome a little codicil may not be found, and that my dear uncle will not wake up a millionnaire some day?" "That day will not come," answered Plavitski. Still the words had moved him; he began to gaze at Polanyetski, to squirm as if the chair on which he was sitting were a bed of torture, and said, at last, "And you think that possible?" "I see in it nothing impossible," answered Pan Stanislav, with real roguish seriousness. "If the wish of Providence." "And that may be." Plavitski looked around the hall; they were alone. He pushed back his chair on a sudden, and, pointing to his shirt-bosom, said,-- "Come here, my boy!" Pan Stanislav inclined his head, which Plavitski kissed twice, saying at the same time, with emotion,-- "Thou host consoled me; thou hast strengthened me. Let it be as God wills, but thou hast strengthened me. I confess to thee now that I wrote to Panna Ploshovski only to remind her that we were living. I asked her when the rent term of one of her estates would end; I had not, as thou knowest, the intention to take that place, but the excuse was a good one. May God reward thee for strengthening me! The present will may have been made before my letter. She went to Rome later; on the way she must have thought of my letter, and therefore of us; and, to my thinking, that is possible. God reward thee!" After a while his face cleared up completely; all at once he laid his hand on Pan Stanislav's knee, and, clicking with his tongue, cried,-- "Knowest what, my boy? Perhaps in a happy hour thou hast spoken; and might we not drink a small bottle of Mouton-Rothschild on account of this codicil?" "God knows that I cannot," said Pan Stanislav, who had begun to be a little ashamed of what he had said to the old man. "I cannot, and I will not." "Thou must." "'Pon my word, I cannot. I have my hands full of work, and I will not befog my head for anything in the world." "A stubborn goat,--a regular goat! Then I will drink half a bottle to the happy hour." So he ordered it, and asked,-- "What hast thou to do?" "Various things. Immediately after dinner I must be with Professor Vaskovski." "What kind of a figure is that Vaskovski?" "In fact," said Pan Stanislav, "an inheritance has fallen to him from his brother, who was a miner,--an inheritance, and a considerable one. But he gives all to the poor." "He gives to the poor, but goes to a good restaurant. I like such philanthropists. If I had anything to give the poor, I would deny myself everything."