After the reading of this letter the remnants of anger and pride
vanished from Lula's forehead, on her beautiful face a mild though deep
melancholy fixed itself.
"Pan Adam," said she, "tell the gentleman that he has acted as he
should."
"And forgive me, dear lady," said Augustinovich, throwing himself on his
knees. "I was unjust. I did you a wrong, but I had no idea, I knew not,
that there were such women in the world as you are."
CHAPTER XXI
Augustinovich went directly from Pani Visberg's to the hospital, where
he remained all night. Yosef was ill, very ill. Typhus rushed at that
strong organism, threatening it with utter destruction. About midnight
the sick man began to rave; he talked with himself, and argued
obstinately on the immortality of the soul with a black cat which he saw
sitting on the bed. It appeared that he feared death, for a number of
times indescribable terror was depicted on his face. He feared and
trembled very acutely after every movement of Augustinovich. At moments
he sang with a quivering voice, and as it were through sleep various
gladsome and melancholy songs, or conversed with acquaintances. There
was even a kind of astonishing humor in the naturalness of tones in
these conversations.
Augustinovich, unmanned already by the events of preceding days, was
irritated unspeakably. He waited for morning with longing, looking often
at the window-panes, which, as if through spite, continued to be as
black as ever. Outside there was deep darkness, and fine rain began to
cut the window-panes, filling the hospital chamber with a sound which
was monotonous and disagreeable.
For a long time such sad and disquieting thoughts had not wandered into
Augustinovich's head as at that moment. Resting his elbows on his knees
and covering his face with his hands, he meditated over the marvellous
and painful complication of events during the last few days. Sometimes
he raised his head and cast a quick glance at the sick man; at times it
seemed to him that the gloom of death was falling on the withered, sharp
features of Yosef.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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