Krzycki did not answer; he only smiled and winked his eyes in sign of assent; when she handed the drink to him, he eagerly drained the glass, and afterwards gently taking her hand in his own, which was uninjured, he pressed it to his lips and held it there a long time. "My dearest ... my guardian angel," he whispered. And again he pressed her hand to his lips. Miss Anney did not even withdraw her hand; only with the other one she took the glass and placed it upon the small cupboard standing near the bed. She bent over him and said: "It is necessary for you to keep quiet.--I will be with you until you get well, but now it is essential that you think only of your health; only of your health." Her voice sounded in tones of quiet and gentle persuasiveness. Ladislaus dropped her hand. For some time he moved his lips, but not a word could be heard. Evidently, he was weakened from emotion, as he grew pale and beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead. Miss Anney began to wipe his face with a handkerchief and continued: "Please be calm. If I thought that I was harming you, I would not come here, and I do want to be with you now. Not a word about anything until the wounds are healed; not a word. Promise me that." A moment of silence ensued. "Let the lady retire for a rest," Krzycki said in a pleading voice. "I will go, I will go, but I am not at all tired. During the first half of the night, Pan Gronski sat up at your side and I slept. Really, I am not tired and I will sleep during the day. But you, sir, try to sleep. All that is necessary is for you not to look at me, and close your eyes. Then sleep will come of itself. Good-night, or rather good-day, for the day is breaking in the world." In fact the morning's dawn reddened and gilded the sky, and the sun was about to rise at any moment. The light of the green lamp grew paler each moment and was merging into the brightness of the day. Ladislaus, desiring to show how he obeyed every word of his beloved guardian, closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but after a while footsteps were heard in the hallway and the doctor entered accompanied by Miss Anney's maid, whose turn it now was to attend to the patient. The doctor was so terribly drowsy that instead of eyes he had two slits surrounded by swollen eyelids, but he was as jovial and noisy as usual. He examined the bandages, admitted that the dressing was in proper shape, felt the pulse, and found everything in good order. Afterwards he opened the windows to freshen the air which was saturated with iodoform. "A splendid morning," said he. "Health flows from the skies. Let the windows remain open all day. As soon as they hitch the horses, I shall return to the city for I have patients who cannot wait. But I will come back in the evening and bring a nurse for our wounded friend." After which, addressing Miss Anney, he said: