Stella.—­But what?

Czeska.—­A bird must have sung it, because I cannot remember who told me that he is a little bit like a storm.

Stella.—­Yes, his life has been stormy, but he was not broken by it.

Czeska.—­So much the better.  Listen!  Such people are the best—­they are true men.  The more I think of it, the more sincerely I congratulate you.

Stella.—­Thank you.  I am glad I spoke to you frankly.  The fact is that I am very lonesome here:  papa is always ailing and our doctor has been away for three months.

Czeska.—­Let that doctor of yours alone.

Stella.—­You never liked him.

Czeska.—­You know that I am not easily prejudiced against any one, but
I do not like him.

Stella.—­And do you know that he has been offered a professorship at the university, and that he is anxious to be elected a member of parliament?  Mother, you are really unjust.  You know that he sacrificed himself for us.

He is famous, rich, and a great student, but notwithstanding all that he remains with us when the whole world is open to him.  I would surely have asked his advice.

Czeska.—­Love is not an illness—­but no matter about him.  May God help him!  You had better tell me, dear kitten—­are you very much in love?

Stella.—­Do you not see how quickly everything has been done?  It is true that Countess Miliszewska came here with her son.  I know it was a question about me, and I feared, although in vain, that papa might have the same idea.

Czeska.—­You have not answered my question.

Stella.—­Because it is a hard matter to speak about.  Mother, Mr. Pretwic’s life is full of heroic deeds, sacrifices, and dangers.  Once he was in great peril, and he owes his life to Count Drahomir.  But how dearly he loves him for it.  Well, my fiance bears the marks of distant deserts, long solitudes, and deep sufferings.  But when he begins to tell me of his life, it seems that I truly love that stalwart man.  If you only knew how timidly, and at the same time how earnestly he told me of his love, and then he added that he knows his hands are too rough—­

Czeska.—­Not too rough—­for they are honest.  After what you have told me, I am in his favor with all my soul.

Stella.—­But in spite of all that, sometimes I feel very unhappy.

Czeska.—­What is the matter?  Why?

Stella.—­Because sometimes we cannot understand each other.  There are two kinds of love—­one is strong as the rocks, and the other is like a brook in which one can see one’s self.  When I look at George’s love, I see its might, but my soul is not reflected in it like a face in a limpid brook.  I love him, it is true, but sometimes it seems to me that I could love still more—­that all my heart is not in that love, and then I am unhappy.

Czeska.—­But I cannot understand that.  I take life simply.  I love, or I do not love.  Well Stella, the world is so cleverly constructed, and God is so good that there is nothing more easy than to be happy.  But one must not make a tangle of God’s affairs.  Be calm.  You are very much in love indeed.  No matter!