The count acquiesced, gave Jan his orders, and went up to Judith. This expected ceremony had been present to her mind from hour to hour, and had really cured her. Still she trembled, and burst into a fit of wild weeping. He took her hand, and tried to comfort her. But she sobbed on. "I know I can only become your wife as a Christian. And I will be grateful to you for making me one my whole life long. It will be a heaven on earth into which your kind hand leads me. But what goes before is a hell. Don't be angry. It is not because I hate your creed, or because it is strange to me. Even my father, who is an orthodox Jew, always said, 'We are all children of the same Father in heaven.' But this step cuts me off forever from him and from Raphael. Henceforth I have only you in the whole world. I do not weep out of pity for myself, but for them. They have lost daughter and sister; for, as a Christian, I am dead to them. What they will suffer from their own hearts and from our people! I must think of Miriam Gold, whose daughter became a Christian." He stood beside her as she stammered these words, and he felt he had never before seen such emotion. He was dumb, unable to say a word; for what could he say? That he would spare her this pain? Then his whole game would be lost. The scene had so shaken him that he could hardly stand upright as he led her to the chapel. The late candidate for holy orders made it very short, and both ceremonies were concluded in very few minutes. To the count it was as though he saw everything through a veil and heard everything muffled by distance. How many times since had he seen this picture: the dim, faintly lit chapel; the pale woman by his side; the gallows-face of the scoundrel in his cape; Wroblewski stuffing his handkerchief into his mouth to keep from laughing; and poor, faithful old Jan weeping bitterly because a Baranowski was marrying a Jewess! As he stood this day on the balcony, surrounded on all sides with sunshine and the vivid coloring of the Southern landscape, suddenly it vanished, and in its place was the chapel at Borky, and instead of the twittering of birds in the garden was a whining voice which said, "And hereby I declare you man and wife, in the name of--" "Ah!" he groaned. "It was frightful. It was the worst thing that could have happened." It was not because of his blasphemy that he said this after more than a year had passed away. He realized now that his sin against God, not to speak of that against the civil law, had not been his most grievous offence. He made this discovery the morning after the sad farce. Wroblewski, on taking leave, had said, "Hurry up, and get away as soon as you can. Go to Italy, or even farther. Think of the danger if that revengeful fellow, Raphael, should sue you for abduction, and one fine day you were summoned before the courts. Her most gracious Lady Countess would be brought up as witness."