Such was the widow.
She entered the room and stood near the door, like a stone statue, in gloomy majesty. It was warm and smoky around her, the last sounds of a song were quivering in the air yet. A little coarse and a little dissolute was the song, and on that impure background bloomed the widow like a water-lily on a turbid pool.
Silence came. They respected her in that place. In her presence even Augustinovich became endurable. Some remembered Potkanski, others inclined their heads before her misfortune. There were also those who revered her beauty. The assembly assumed in her presence its seemliest aspect.
Gustav brought up an armchair to Pani Helena, and taking her warm shawl went to a corner to Yosef, who, attracted and astonished, turned his gleaming eyes at the widow.
Gustav began a conversation with him.
"That is she," said he, in an undertone.
"I understand."
"Do not show thyself to her much. The poor woman! every new face brings her disappointment, she is always looking for her husband."
"Art thou acquainted with her long?"
"This is the second year. I was a witness
