"Thank you for that too. Do so. Till we meet again, Professor." The train moved that moment. Pani Emilia and Litka waved their parasols till the more frequent puffing of the engine hid, with rolls of steam and smoke, the window through which Pan Stanislav was looking. "Mamma," asked Litka, "is it really necessary to say a novena for Pan Stas?" "Yes, Litus. He is so kind to us, we must pray to God to make him happy." "But is he unhappy?" "No--that is--seest thou, every one has trouble, and he has his." "I know; I heard in Thumsee," said the little girl. And after a while she added in a low voice,-- "I will say a novena." But Professor Vaskovski, who was so honest that he could not hold his tongue, said after a time to Pani Emilia, when Litka had gone forward,-- "That is a golden heart, and he loves you both as a brother. Now that the specialist has assured us that there is not the least fear, I can tell everything. Pan Stanislav brought him here purposely, for he was alarmed about the little girl in Thumsee." "Did he bring him?" asked Pani Emilia. "What a man!" And tears of gratitude came to her eyes. After a while she said, "But I will reward him, for I will give him Marynia." Pan Stanislav went away with a heart full of good wishes and gratitude to Pani Emilia, for the man who has failed and for that reason falls into trouble, feels the friendship of people more keenly than others. Sitting in the corner of the compartment, with the image of Pani Emilia fresh in his mind, he said to himself,-- "If I had fallen in love with her! What rest, what certainty of happiness! An object in life would have been found; I should know for whom I am working, I should know whose I am, I should know that my existence has some meaning. She says, it is true, that she will not marry, but me!--she might, who knows? That other is perfection, perhaps, but she may have a very dry heart." Here he feels suddenly: "Still I can think calmly about Pani Emilia; while at every recollection of that other a certain unquiet seizes me, which is at once both bitter and agreeable. I am drawn by something toward that other. I have just pressed Pani Emilia's hand, and that pressure has left no sensation; while even now I remember the warm palm of Marynia, and feel a certain species of quiver at the very thought of it." As far as Salzburg, Pan Stanislav thought only of "that other." This time his thoughts began to take the form, if not of resolves, at least of questions,--how is he to act toward her, and what in this state of affairs is his duty?