Leon.--But Mme. Jadwiga--

Jadwiga.--Ah, you have called me by my name. I thank you and beg your pardon. It is the self-love of a woman, nothing more. It is my nerves.

Do not be frightened. You see how dangerous it is to irritate me.

After one of my moods I am unbearable. I will give you three days to think the matter over. If you do not wish to come, write me then (she laughs sadly). Only I warn you, that if you will neither come nor write me, I will tell every one that you are afraid of me, and so I will satisfy my self-love. In the mean time, for the sake of my nerves, you must not tell, me that you refuse my request. I am a little bit ill--consequently capricious.

Leon.--In three days you shall have my answer (rising), and now I will say good-bye.

Jadwiga.--Wait a moment. This is not so easy as you think. Truly, I would think you are afraid of me. It is true that they say I am a coquette, a flirt. I know they talk very badly about me. Besides we are good acquaintances, who have not seen each other for two years.

Let us then talk a little. Let me take your hat. Yes, that is it!

Now let us talk. I am sure we may become friends again. As for me at least--what do you intend to do in the future besides painting my portrait?

Leon.--The conversation about me would not last long. Let us take another more interesting subject. You had better talk about yourself--about your life, your family.

Jadwiga.--As for my husband, he is, as usual, in Chantilly. My mother is dead! Poor mama! She was so fond of you--she loved you very much (after a pause). In fact, as you see, I have grown old and changed greatly.

Leon.--At your age the words "I have grown old" are only a daring challenge thrown by a woman who is not afraid that she would be believed.

Jadwiga.--I am twenty-three years old, so I am not talking about age in years, but age in morals. I feel that to-day I am not like that Jadwiga of Kalinowice whom you used to know so well. Good gracious!

when I think to-day of that confidence and faith in life--those girlish illusions--the illusions of a young person who wished to be happy and make others happy, that enthusiasm for everything good and n.o.ble! where has all that gone--where has it disappeared? And to think that I was--well, an honest wild-flower--and to-day--

Leon.--And to-day a society woman.

Jadwiga.--To-day, when I see such a sceptical smile as I saw a few moments ago on your lips, it seems to me that I am ridiculous--very often so--even always when I sit at some ideal embroidery and when I begin to work at some withered flowers on the forgotten, despised canvas of the past. It is a curious and old fashion from times when faithfulness was not looked seriously on, and people sang of Filon.

Leon.--At that moment you were speaking according to the latest mode.

Jadwiga.--Shall I weep, or try to tie the broken thread? Well, the times change. I can a.s.sure you that I have some better moments, during which I laugh heartily at everything (handing him a cigarette). Do you smoke?

Leon.--No, madam.

Jadwiga.--I do. It is also a distraction. Sometimes I hunt _par force_ with my husband, I read Zola's novels, I make calls and receive visits, and every morning I ponder as to the best way to kill time.

Sometimes I succeed--sometimes not. Apropos, you know my husband, do you not?

Leon.--I used to know him.

Jadwiga.--He is very fond of hunting, but only _par force_. We never hunt otherwise.

Leon.--Let us be frank. You had better drop that false tone.

Jadwiga.--On the contrary. In our days we need impressions which stir our nerves. The latest music, like life itself, is full of dissonances. I do not wish to say that I am unhappy with my husband.

It is true that he is always in Chantilly, and I see him only once in three months, but it proves, on the other hand, that he has confidence in me. Is it not true?

Leon.--I do not know, and I do not wish to decide about it. But before all, I should not know anything about it.

Jadwiga.--It seemed to me that you ought to know. Pray believe that I would not be as frank with any one else as I am with you. And then, I do not complain. I try to surround myself with youths who pretend they are in love with me. There is not a penny-worth of truth in all of it--they all lie, but the form of the lie is beautiful because they are all well-bred people. The Count Skorzewski visits me also--you must have heard of him, I am sure. I recommend him to you as a model for Adonis. Ha! ha! You do not recognize the wild-flower of Kalinowice?

Leon.--No, I do not recognize it.

Jadwiga.--No! But the life flower.

Leon.--As a joke--

Jadwiga.--At which one cannot laugh always. If our century was not sceptical I should think myself wild, romantic, trying to drown despair. But the romantic times have pa.s.sed away, therefore, frankly speaking, I only try to fill up a great nothing. I also spin out my ball, although not always with pleasure. Sometimes I seem to myself so miserable and my life so empty that I rush to my prayer-desk, left by my mother. I weep, I pray--and then I laugh again at my prayers and tears. And so it goes on--round and round. Do you know that they gossip about me?

Leon.--I do not listen to the gossip.

Jadwiga.--How good you are! I will tell you then why they gossip. A missionary asked a negro what, according to his ideas, const.i.tuted evil? The negro thought a while, and then said: "Evil is if some one were to steal my wife." "And what is good?" asked the missionary.

"Good is when I steal from some one else." My husband's friends are of the negro's opinion. Every one of them would like to do a good deed and steal some one's wife.

Leon.--It depends on the wife.

Jadwiga.--Yes, but every word and every look is a bait. If the fish pa.s.ses the bait, the fisherman's self-love is wounded. That is why they slander me (after a while). You great people--you are filled with simplicity. Then you think it depends on the wife?

Leon.--Yes, it does.

Jadwiga.--_Morbleu!_ as my husband says, and if the wife is weary?

Leon.--I bid you good-bye.

Jadwiga.--Why? Does what I say offend you?

Leon.--It does more than offend me. It hurts me. Maybe it will seem strange to you, but here in my breast I am carrying some flowers--although they are withered--dead for a long time. But they are dear to me and just now you are trampling on them.

Jadwiga (with an outburst).--Oh, if those flowers had not died!

Leon.--They are in my heart--and there is a tomb. Let us leave the past alone.

Jadwiga.--Yes, you are right. Leave it alone. What is dead cannot be resuscitated. I wish to speak calmly. Look at my situation. What defends me--what helps me--what protects me? I am a young woman, and it seems not ugly, and therefore no one approaches me with an honest, simple heart, but with a trap in eyes and mouth. What opposition have I to make? Weariness? Grief? Emptiness? In life even a man must lean on something, and I, a feeble woman, I am like a boat without a helm, without oar and without light toward which to sail. And the heart longs for happiness. You must understand that a woman must be loved and must love some one in the world, and if she lacks true love she seizes the first pretext of it--the first shadow.

Leon (with animation).--Poor thing.

Jadwiga.--Do not smile in that ironical way. Be better, be less severe with me. I do not even have any one to complain, and that is why I do not drive away Count Skorzewski. I detest his beauty, I despise his perverse mind, but I do not drive him away because he is a skilful actor, and because when I see his acting it awakens in me the echo of former days. (After a while.) How shall I fill my life? Study? Art?

Even if I loved them, they would not love me for they are not living things. No, truly now! They showed me no duties, no aims, no foundations. Everything on which other women live--everything which const.i.tutes their happiness, sincere sorrow, strength, tears, and smiles, is barred from me. Morally I have nothing to live on--like a beggar. I have no one to live for--like an orphan. I am not permitted to yearn for a n.o.ble and quiet life; I may only nurture myself with grief and defend myself with faded, dead flowers, and remembrances of former pure, honest, and loving Jadwinia. Ah! again I break my promise, our agreement. I must beg your pardon.

Leon.--Mme. Jadwiga, both our lives are tangled. When I was most unhappy, when everything abandoned me, there remained with me the love of an idea--love of the country.

Jadwiga (thoughtfully).--The love of an idea--country. There is something great in that. You, by each of your pictures, increase the glory of the country and make famous its name, but I--what can I do?

Leon.--The one who lives simply, suffers and quietly fulfils his duties--he also serves his country.

Jadwiga.--What duties? Give them to me. For every-day life one great, ideal love is not enough for me. I am a woman! I must cling to something--twine about something like the ivy--otherwise truly, sir, I should fall to the ground and be trampled upon (with an outburst). If I could only respect him!

Leon.--But, madam, you should remember to whom you are speaking of such matters. I have no right to know of your family affairs.

Jadwiga.--No. You have not the right, nor are you obliged nor willing.

Only friendly hearts know affliction--only those who suffer can sympathize. You--looking into the stars--you pa.s.s human misery and do not turn your head even when that misery shouts to you. It is your fault.

Leon.--My fault!