Seeing that her husband Had no wound but a hand clipped of the skin, And learning what the story was, she saw It was no time to let Sosnowski's wrong Come out to cloud the glory of her husband, Now that in a new day he had come to stand With progress, fairer terms of life--to let The corpse of a dead day be brought beside The fresh and breathing life of brighter truth. Quickly she called the butler, gave him charge Over Sosnowski, who was taken out, Held in the kitchen, while the two conferred, The husband and the wife. To him she said, They two alone now: "I can see your plan To turn this fellow over to the law. It will not do, my dear, it will not do. For though I have been sharer in your life, Partaker of its spoils and fruits, I see This man is just a ghost of a dead day Of your past life, perhaps, in which I shared. But that dead life I would not resurrect In memory even, it has passed us by, You shall not live it more, no more shall I. The war has changed the world--the harvest coming Will have its tares no doubt, but the old tares Have been cut out and burned, wholly, I trust. And just to think you used that sharpened talent For getting money, place, in the old regime, To place you where to-day? Why, where you must Use all your talents for the common good. A barter takes two parties, and the traffic Whereby the giants of the era gone-- (You are a giant rising on the wreck Of programs and of plots)--made riches for Themselves and those they served, is gone as well. Since gradually no one is left to serve Or have an interest but the state or city, The community which is all and should be all. So here you are at last despite yourself, Changed not in mind perhaps, but changed in place, Work, interest, taking pride too in the work; And speaking with your outer mind, at least Praise for the day and work. I am at fault, And take no virtue to myself--I lived Your life with you and coveted the things Your labors brought me. All is changed for me. I would be poorer than this wretched Pole Rather than go back to the day that's dead, Or reassume the moods I lived them through. What can we do now to undo the past, Those days of self-indulgence, ostentation, False prestige, witless pride, that waste of time, Money and spirit, haunted by ennui Insatiable emotion, thirst for change. At least we can do this: We can set up The race's progress and our country's glory As standards for our work each day, go on Perhaps in ignorance, misguided faith; And let the end approve our poor attempts. Now to begin, I ask two things of you: If you or anyone who did your will Wronged this poor Pole, make good the wrong at once. And for the sake of bigness let him go. For your own name's sake, let the fellow go. Do you so promise me?"