re successful in his mission, I would begin
again philosophizing. I felt a desire to shake him. He went away with
such a cheerful face I could swear he feels sure not to fail.

After his departure I went straight to St. Mary's Church, and I, the
sceptic, the philosopher, I who do not know, do not know, do not
know, had a mass offered in the names of Leon and Aniela. I not only
remained during mass in church, but put down here, black on white:
Perdition upon all my scepticism, philosophy, and my "I do not know!"

28 June.

It is one o'clock in the afternoon. Sniatynski and his wife are
starting for Ploszow. Aniela ought to agree at least to a postponement
of her marriage. Various thoughts cross my mind. That Kromitzki is
greedy for money there is not the slightest doubt; then why did he not
fix his attentions on a richer girl? Aniela's estate is large, but
encumbered with debts,--perhaps it was the landed property he wanted,
so as to secure himself a position and a citizenship. Yet Kromitzki,
with his reputation as a rich man, could have got all this, and money
with his wife besides. Evidently Aniela attracted him personally
and for some time. It is not to be wondered at that Aniela should
captivate any one.

And to think that she was waiting, as one waits for one's happiness or
salvation, for one word from me! My aunt says it, that she was lying
in wait for Chwastowski, to take the letters from him. A terrible fear
seizes me that all this may not be forgiven, and that I am doomed and
all those that are like me.

10 o'clock in the evening.

I had a terrible neuralgia in the head; it has passed now, but what
with the pain, the sleeplessness, and anxiety, I feel as if I were
hypnotized. My mind, open and excited on one point, concentrated upon
one thought, sees more clearly than it has ever done before how the
affair will end. It seems to me that I am at Ploszow; I listen to what
Aniela says to Sniatynski, and I cannot understand how I could buoy
myself up with false hopes. She has no pity on me. These are not mere
suppositions, they are a dead certainty. Truly, something strange is
going on with me. A terrible gravity has suddenly fallen upon me, as
if up to this moment I had only been a child,--and such a terrible
sadness. Am I going to be ill? I made Sniatynski promise to send me a
telegram. No message has as yet arrived, though, properly speaking, it
will not tell me anything new.

29 June.

The telegr