Suitors in plenty would fain have come buzzing about the place; but none of them had as much as been admitted to her presence. Even now, when the raging cholera in the neighborhood would have furnished the most reasonable excuse for a journey of pleasure or a trip to a watering-place, she had had no thought of leaving Rudniki. Madame Wolska relied implicitly on her excellent constitution and her rational mode of life for keeping off this illness, which she did not fear. Besides, she had no wish to show herself in public until she had doffed her weeds, and earned the right to enjoyment. Afterwards she would have plenty of time to amuse herself and see the world, and possibly make another marriage more to her liking. She was in no hurry, and never acted on impulse — the sort of woman who rarely makes a mistake in life. For the present time the mere consciousness of possession was still enough for her, — it was sufficient enjoyment to sit on her verandah, gazing on the landscape around her, as she was now doing at that moment, and to be able to repeat to herself, "That is my village; those are my woods, my fields, my peasants."
And just at that moment she was informed that one of her peasants was waiting outside and wished to speak to her.
This message was delivered by a tall, handsome girl, with coal-black eyes and heavy plaits of dark hair, who, though but a peasant herself, as her bare feet and colored apron testified, had been lately promoted to the post of special hand-maiden (I cannot say lady's-maid) to Madame Wolska. The staff of servants had not been properly reorganized since old Wolski's death; and the footman had left at the first alarm of cholera. Madame Wolska required but little personal attendance, and had never had a lady's-maid in her life. She liked this girl, and was content with her services for the present.
"Who is it, Magda?"
"It is Master Filip and his wife," answered Magda deferentially; for Filip was well known to be the best and wisest man in the village; and though only a peasant like herself, it seemed more natural to Magda to call him Master Filip than by his name alone.
"Very well, show them in here;" and a minute later the couple were ushered on to the verandah.
Filip Buska might have been called a good-looking man, had not an expression of uncompromising severity, almost amounting to hardness, marked his features. Tall and muscular, he appeared a little over forty, though in reality he had not yet reached that age. His hair was dark, his eyebrows thick and bushy; his sunburnt face, strongly marked by lines of care, had a weather-beaten look. His coarse linen shirt-sleeves, rolled up above the elbow, showed well-browned arms, and he held a saw in his hand.
Very hard-working and self reliant, Filip Buska was justly considered the first man in the village. No one had ever seen him go near the public-house, nor as much as treat himself to a pipe of tobacco. For him life was all work and no play. From a ragged goatherd he had raised himself to his present comparatively comfortable position, possessing his two horses, his cart in summer, and sledge in winter; his pig, his fowls, and his bee-hives. His hut was the best-thatched hut, and his garden the best-kept garden in the village.
Though scrupulously honest, he had a keen eye for business, and no one knew better how to drive a close bargain; not even a Jew was ever able to boast that he had got the better of Filip Buska. Being handy and inventive, he was ever on the alert to increase his savings by turning his hand to odd jobs of all kinds, according to the necessities that sprang up in the place. He repaired the neighbors' carts and ploughshares, could mend a window or a pair of boots, and had lately invented a totally new sort of wooden bolt for securing barns and lofts.
When the cholera had appeared at Rudniki he had promptly stepped in as an extempore coffin-maker, and had been driving a brisk and remunerative trade in that line for the last several weeks. Hitherto the inhabitants of Rudniki had fetched their coffins from the nearest town, several hours off, so the necessity of a coffin- maker had not been felt; and the coffins at Brodek were more elegantly fashioned than those which Filip turned out. But now, in this season of death, no one was inclined to be fastidious about the precise shade or shape of their coffin, and speed was the most important consideration; besides, every horse in the place was taken up bringing in the harvest, and no one had a cart to spare to send to the town.
Filip Buska's wife was a plain-faced woman, some years younger than himself. He had married her only about ten years previously, having, contrary to the habit of the country, waited until he should have secured a comfortable independence
