something more than that cousin of recent acquaintance. But she was ashamed to tell him this, and she remained silent, a little angry and a little grieved.
Meanwhile Pani Visberg invited her guests to tea. Lula ran for a while to her own chamber, and sitting on her bed covered her face with her hands. At that moment she was in Yosef's chamber mentally. "He is toiling there," thought she, "and here they speak of him as of some one strange to me. Why did that other say that he was the son of a blacksmith?"
It seemed to her as if they were wronging Yosef, but she felt offended at him, too, because he was the son of a blacksmith.
At tea she sat near her cousin, a little thoughtful, a little sad, turning unquiet glances toward Augustinovich, who from the moment of his malicious interference filled her with a certain fear.
"Indeed thou art not thyself, Lula," said Pani Visberg, placing her hand on the girl's heated forehead.
Malinka, who was standing with the teapot in her hand, pouring tea in the light, stopped the yellowish stream, and turning her head said with a smile,—
