"I, Pani?" cried Zavilovski, putting his hand on his breast; "I, with Panna Castelli?" And there was so much sincerity in his question that he was confused again; but this time Marynia herself was confused somewhat. Meantime Pan Stanislav has finished his conversation with Bigiel about the dangers of investing capital in land, and they drive away. Marynia remembers how once she returned with her father, Pani Emilia, Litka, and Pan Stanislav from the Bigiels, in a moonlight night such as this; how "Pan Stanislav" was in love with her then; how unhappy he was; how severe she was with him; and her heart begins to beat with pity for that "Pan Stanislav," who suffered so much on a time. She wants to nestle up to him and implore pardon for those evil moments of the past; and but for the presence of Zavilovski, she would do so. But that old-time Pan Stanislav is sitting there calm and self-confident at her side, and smoking his cigar. Moreover, she is his; he has taken her and has her; all is over. "Of what art thou thinking, Stas?" inquired she. "Of the business of which I was talking with Bigiel." And, shaking the ashes from his cigar, he replaced it in his mouth, and drew so vigorously that a ruddy gleam lighted his mustache and a part of his face. Zavilovski, looking at Marynia's face, thought in his young soul that if she were his wife he would not smoke a cigar, nor think of business of which he had been talking with Bigiel, but might kneel before her and adore her on his knees. And gradually, under the influence of the night and that sweet womanly face, which he glorified, exaltation possessed him. After a time he began to declaim, at first in silence, as if to himself, then more audibly, his verses entitled, "Snows on the Mountains." There was in that poem, as it were, an immense yearning for something unapproachable and immaculate. Zavilovski himself did not know when they arrived in the city, and when lamps began to gleam on both sides of the street. At Pan Stanislav's house Marynia said,-- "To-morrow, then, to a five o'clock." "Yes," answered he, kissing her hand. Marynia was sunk somewhat in revery under the influence of the ride, the night, and maybe the verses. But from the time of their stay in Rome, she and her husband had repeated the rosary together. And after these prayers a great tenderness possessed her suddenly,--as it were, an influx of feeling, hidden for a time by other impressions. Approaching him, she put her arms around his neck, and whispered,-- "My Stas, but we feel so pleasant together, do we not?" He drew her toward him, and answered with a certain careless boastfulness,-- "But do I complain?" And it did not occur to him that there was in her question something like a shade of doubt and sorrow, which she did not like to admit to her soul, and desired him to calm and convince her.