She blushed like a rose under his glance, and he recollected how he once saw her attired only in azure watery pearls; so he gazed at her with greater curiosity and said: "That does not matter. I thank you, little Miss, for your solicitude." At the same time, as a sign of gratitude, he moved the hand lying on the bed-quilt but feeling simultaneously a piercing pain, he made a wry face and hissed. And she sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over him, and asked with intense anxiety: "Does it pain?" "It does." "Can I hand you anything? Shall I call any one?" "No, no." For a certain time, silence followed. Ladislaus frowned and clinched his teeth; after which, drawing a deep breath, he said, as if with a certain rage: "This was done for me by those scoundrels." "Oh, if they only fell into my hands," she replied through her set teeth. Such a fathomless hatred glistened in her eyes and her entire countenance assumed such an expression of cruelty, that it might serve as a model for a Gorgon face. Ladislaus was so astonished at this sight that he forgot about his pain. Again silence ensued. The maid recollected herself after a while, but her cheeks grew so pale that the dark down above her lips became more marked: She then asked: "What can I do to relieve you?" Her voice now rang with such cordial solicitude that Ladislaus smiled and answered: "Nothing, unless it be to commiserate with me." And in a moment she was transported with spasmodic grief; she flung her face at his feet, and, embracing them with her arms, began to kiss them through the quilt. Her raven-like head and bent body shook from sobbing. "Why little lady! Panna Pauly!" cried Ladislaus. And he was compelled to repeat this several times before she heard him. Finally she rose and, covering her eyes with her hands, went to the window, pressed her face against the pane, and for some time remained motionless. Afterwards she began to wipe her eyes and readjust her hair, as if in fear that somebody, entering unexpectedly, might surmise what had taken place.