ever. He had already tired himself out with talking to
her about it. She would listen quietly, with her eyes fixed on her
hands lying idly in her lap, and then, when he knew of no other
argument to bring forward, she would say softly, but more decidedly
than if she had spoken in a loud voice, "I shall go into a convent, all
the same."

What a pity the girl was so holy. "Holy," that [Pg 261] was what
Marianna called her. If only Becker and she had married, how nice it
would have been. Mikolai still harped on this, and it was this
disappointment that grieved him most of all. Why did Martin not care
for Rosa?

As they were returning home together in the early twilight, Mikolai
once more took courage. He was certainly not going to offer Rosa again
to Becker--he felt too sorry for her to do that--but he wanted to hear
why his beautiful plan could not be realized. So he said, "The snow has
come, now you'll soon be going," and cast a covert glance at his friend
to see what he would say to it.

Martin answered quite simply, "I shall soon be going."

"There's still a fortnight," said Mikolai.

"There's still a fortnight," repeated Martin, and then gave a deep sigh
of relief as one who again breathes light, fresh air after it has been
sultry and oppressive for a long time.

Mikolai sighed too. _Psia krew_, how difficult it was to sound the
fellow. Although he thought he had introduced the subject so cunningly,
he saw he would have to be still more explicit. So he continued, "Only
a fortnight longer, a very short reprieve. We shall all miss you, Rosa
especially. Well, well!" He paused for a moment, and then cast another
covert glance at Martin.

The latter's face, however, was inscrutable; it was as though it were
hewn out of stone, and he could learn nothing from it. But what was
that? It seemed to Mikolai as though his friend's pale face had
suddenly flushed. Then he turned his head from side to side, as if his
collar were too tight, and swallowed a few times as if he were gulping
something down, and then [Pg 262] the corners of his mouth drooped as
though something were grieving him. At last Mikolai could no longer
restrain himself. Why this dissimulation? He put his arm round the
other's shoulders and said in a low, cordial voice, "Marry my sister,
do. She's good and pretty and has also expectations. We three will be
very happy together. Take her, Martin, I beg of you."

"Let me go!" cried the man, pushing Mikolai aw