Then from the gill's breast was rent a shriek of such pain and sincerity that the honest heart of the priest quivered in him. He approached her, removed the hands with which she had covered her face, and asked,-- "Then didst thou not know of this?" "I did not--I did not!" "And thou didst wish Yatsek to return to thee? "I did!" "In God's name! Why was that?" Tears as large as pearls began again to drop from her closed lashes in abundance, and quickly; her face was red from maiden shame, she caught for air with her open lips, the heart was throbbing in her as in a captured bird, and at last after great effort, she whispered,-- "Because--I love him!" "My child, is that possible!" cried out Father Voynovski. But the voice broke in his breast, for tears were choking him also. He was seized at the same instant by delight and immense compassion for the girl, and astonishment that "a woman" in this case was not the cause of all evil, but an innocent lamb on which so much suffering had fallen God knew for what reason. He caught her in his arms, pressed her to his heart. "My child! my child!" repeated he, time after time. The Bukoyemskis, meanwhile, had betaken themselves, with the glasses and pitcher, to the dining-room; had emptied the pitcher conscientiously to the bottom, and were waiting for the priest and Pan Serafin, in the hope that with their coming supper would be put on the table. They returned at last with moistened eyes and with emotion on their faces. Pan Serafin breathed deeply once, and a second time, then he said,-- "Pani Dzvonkovski is putting the poor thing to bed. Indeed, a man is unwilling to believe his own ears. We too, are to blame; but Krepetski,--what he has done is simply infamous and disgraceful. We may not let him go without punishment." "On the contrary," answered Marek, "we will talk about this with that 'stump.' Oh-ho!" Then he turned to Father Voynovski,-- "I am very sorry for her, but still, I think that God punished her for Yatsek. Is that not true?" "Thou art a fool!" called out Father Voynovski. "But how is that? Why?" The old man, whose breast was full of pity, fell to talking quickly and passionately of the innocence and suffering of the girl, as if wishing in that way to make up for the injustice which he had permitted regarding her; but after a time all discussion was interrupted by the coming of Pani Dzvonkovski, who burst into the room like a bomb into a fortress. Her face was as flooded with tears as if it had been dipped in a full bucket, and right on the threshold she fell to crying, with arms stretched out before her,-- "People, whoso believes in God! Vengeance, justice! As God lives! her dear shoulders are all in blue lumps, those shoulders once white as wafers--hair torn out by the handful, golden hair! my dearest dove! my innocent lamb! my precious little flower!"