Nevertheless, their fears for the time being were vain, as after the lapse of an hour Marynia's eyebrows commenced to rise, quiver, and after a moment she opened her eyes. Her look, at the beginning, was dull and unconscious. Slowly, however, the stupefaction left her and consciousness of what had occurred as well as of the present moment returned. On her countenance appeared an expression of amazement and affliction, such as a child feels who has been punished cruelly and unjustly. Finally her pupils darkened and two tears coursed down her cheeks. "For what?--for what?" she whispered with her pallid lips. Pani Otocka sat at her side and placed her palm on her hand. Gronski was seized with a desire to throw himself on the ground and beat his head on the floor, while the patient asked further in an amazed and mournful whisper: "For what?--for what?" God alone could answer that question. But in the meantime the doctor approached and said: "Do not speak, child, for that harms." So she became silent, but the expression of affliction did not disappear from her countenance, and tears continued to flow. Her sister began to wipe them off; repeating in a subdued voice: "Marynia, Marynia, calm yourself--you will be well--you are not dangerously wounded--no, no--the doctor guarantees that--" Marynia raised her eyes at her as if she desired to divine whether she was telling the truth. It appeared, however, that she listened to her sister's words with a certain hope. After which, she said: "It is sultry.--" The doctor opened the window of the room. Out in the open air the night was fair and starry. Waves of fresh air brought the scent of the acacias. The patient lay for some time calm, but suddenly she began again to seek somebody with her eyes and asked: "Is Pan Gronski here?" "I am, dear, I am--" "You, sir--will not--let me?--Truly--" To Gronski it seemed at that moment that he was enveloped by a deep night and that amidst that impenetrable darkness he answered in a strange voice: "No, no!" And she spoke with terror, her countenance growing more and more pallid: "I do not want to die--I am afraid--" And again tears began to trickle from her eyes--tears inconsolable, tears of a wronged child. The entrance of a priest relieved the harrowing moment. It was the same old prelate, a relative of the Krzyckis and the Zbyltowskis, who previously shrived Pani Krzycki. Drawing nearer, he sat beside Marynia's bed and bending over her with a cheering smile, full of hope, said: "How are you, dear child? Ah, the wretches!--But God is more powerful than they and everything will end well. I only came to ask about your health. God be praised the bullet is already extracted.--Now only patience is necessary and you will be patient--will you not?" Marynia winked her eyes as a token of acquiescence. The amiable old man continued in a more genial and as if jubilant voice: