Herewith he was not conscious that he had made such a mistake as is made daily by dozens of men who are lovers of hunting in other men's grounds. Pani Osnovski was a coquette: she had a dry heart, and her thought was dishonorable already; but she was hundreds of miles yet from complete physical fall. Meanwhile Pan Stanislav returned to the studio feeling that he had made an immense sacrifice for Marynia, and with a certain regret in his heart, first, because she would not know what had happened, and second, if she should know, she would consider his action as perfectly simple. This feeling angered him; and when he looked at her, at her clear eyes, her calm face, and her fair, honest beauty, a comparison of those two women urged itself into his mind in spite of him, and in his soul he said,-- "Ah, Marynia! such as she would rather sink through the earth; of her it is possible to be certain." And--singular thing--there was in this an undoubted recognition, but there was also a shade of regret, and as it were, of irritation, that that was a woman so greatly his own that he did not feel bound to a continual admiration of her worthiness. And for the rest of the sitting he turned his thought to Pani Osnovski. He supposed that in future she would simply cease to give her hand to him, and it turned out that he was mistaken again. On the contrary, wishing to show that she attached no importance to him or to his words, she was more polite to him than hitherto. Pan Osnovski, however, had an offended look, and became more and more icy every day toward him. This was caused, undoubtedly, by conversations with "Anetka." A few days later, however, impressions of another sort effaced that adventure from Pan Stanislav's mind. Bukatski had long been ill; he complained more and more of a pain in the back of his head, and a strange feeling of separating from his own muscles. His humor revived still at moments, but it shot up and went out like fireworks. He came to the _table d'hôte_ more rarely. At last Pan Stanislav received his card one morning; on it these words were written with a very uncertain hand,-- MY DEAR,--After to-night it seems that I am about to get on horseback. If thou wish to see my departure, come, especially in lack of anything better to do. Pan Stanislav hid the card from Marynia, but went straightway. He found Bukatski in bed, and a doctor with him, whom Bukatski sent away that moment. "Thou hast frightened me terribly," said Pan Stanislav. "What ails thee?" "Nothing great,--a little paralysis of the lower part of the body." "Have the fear of God!" "Thou speakest wisely, if there were time for it; but now I have no power in my left arm, in my left leg, and I cannot rise. Thus did I wake this morning. I thought that I had lost speech, too, and began to declaim to myself, 'Per me si va;' but, as thou seest, I have not lost speech. My tongue remained, and now I am trying to find calmness of thought."