The elder ladies were awaiting us with the dinner, which lasted until nine o'clock; and then Clara improvised her _Frühlingslied_. I am almost certain that since Ploszow existed there had never been heard such music within its walls, but I paid very little attention to it. I sat near her in the dusk, as she did not want the lamps lit. Sniatynski waved his arm as if it were a baton; which evidently annoyed his wife, as she pulled his sleeve several times. Aniela sat quite motionless; maybe she, too, was absorbed in her own thoughts, and did not listen to the _Frühlingslied_. I was almost certain she was thinking about me and Clara, and especially about the meaning of the words I had said to Clara. It was easy enough to guess that even if she did not love me, or had the slightest consciousness that my love was any other but brotherly affection, she would feel sore and disappointed if that were about to be taken away from her. A woman who is not happy in her married life clings round any other feeling, if it be only friendship, as the ivy clings to the tree. I had no doubt whatever that if at this moment I knelt down at her feet and told her it was she, and she alone, that I loved, she would feel a sudden joy, as one feels upon recovering something very precious. And if so, I debated within me, why not hasten the solution, if only a way could be found,--frightening her as little as possible, or making her forget all terror in her joy. I began at once to devise ways and means, as I understood it must be done in such a way as to make it forever impossible for her to cast me off. My mind worked very hard at it, as the problem was not an easy one. Gradually a great emotion stole over me: and strange to say, it was more on Aniela's account than on my own that I felt moved,--for I realized suddenly what a great wrench it would be, and I was afraid for her. In the mean time it had grown lighter in the drawing-room; the moon had risen above the trees, and cast luminous shafts across the floor. The melodies of the _Frühlingslied_ still filled the air, and the nightingales responded to it through the open French window. It was a glorious evening, warm and balmy, and full of harmony and love. I thought involuntarily that, if life does not give us happiness, it presents us with a ready frame for it.