The Deluge: An Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, and Russia. Vol. 1Sienkiewicz, Henryk
History
The Deluge: An Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, and Russia. Vol. 1
Sienkiewicz, Henryk
Historical fiction; Poland -- History -- John II Casimir, 1648-1668 -- Fiction
The hearts jumped in both when they heard their names called in
succession, and both hesitated at the first moment; but it occurred to
them that to refuse would be to draw on themselves the eyes of all
present, therefore they sat side by side. They were angry and ill at
ease. Pan Andrei determined to be as indifferent as if a stranger were
sitting next him; but soon he understood that he could not be so
indifferent, and that his neighbor was not such a stranger that they
could begin an ordinary conversation. But both saw that in that throng
of persons of the most varied feelings, interests, and passions, he
thinks only of her and she of him. For this very reason it was awkward
for them. They would not and could not tell sincerely, clearly, and
openly, what lay on their hearts. They had the past, but no future.
Recent feelings, confidence, even acquaintance, were all broken. There
was nothing between them save the feeling of disappointment and
offence. If this link should burst, they would be freer; but time only
could bring forgetfulness: it was too soon for that.
For Kmita it was so disagreeable that he almost suffered torments;
still he would not have yielded, for anything in the world, the place
which the marshal had given him. He caught with his ear the rustle of
her dress; he watched every movement of hers,--he watched while
feigning not to watch; he felt the warmth beating from her, and all
this caused him a certain painful delight.
At the same moment he discovered that she too was equally on the alert,
though she was as if not paying attention. An unconquerable desire of
looking at her drew him on; therefore he glanced sidewise, until he saw
her clear forehead, her eyes covered with dark lashes, and her fair
face, not touched by paint, as were those of other ladies. For him
there had always been something attractive in that face, so that the
heart in the poor knight was shivering from sorrow and pain. "To think
that such animosity could find a place with such beauty," thought he.
But the offence was too deep; hence he added soon in his soul, "I have
nothing to do with you; let some other man take you."
And he felt suddenly that if that "other" were merely to try to make
use of the permission, he would cut him into pieces as small as chopped
straw. At the very thought terrible anger seized him; but he calmed
himself when he remembered that he was still alone, that no "other" was
sitting near her, and that no one, at least at that moment, was trying
to win her.
"I will look at her once more and turn to the other side," thought he.
And again he cast a sidelong glance; but just at that moment she did
the same, and both dropped their eyes with all quickness, terribly
confused, as if they had been caught in a crime.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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