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Updated: June 23, 2025
There was an unwontedly hard note in Magda's voice as she detailed the afternoon's events, and Gillian glanced at her sharply. "I don't understand. Was he a strait-laced prig who disapproved of dancing, do you mean?" "Nothing of the sort. He had a most comprehensive appreciation of the art of dancing. His disapproval was entirely concentrated on me personally."
Near the church the tracks became confused and, what was worse, divided. Kasztan had been ridden to the right and Wojtek to the left. After reflecting for a moment, Maciek followed the latter track, possibly because it was clearer, but most likely because he loved that little horse the best. About noon he found himself near the village where Magda's uncle, the Soltys Grochowski, lived.
The tragic significance of it was summed up in a few lines at the end lines which seemed to burn themselves into Magda's brain: "I suppose it was cheek my hoping you could ever care, but you were so sweet to me you made me think you did. I know now that you don't that you never really cared a brass farthing, and I'm going right away. The same world can't hold us both any longer.
Magda uttered a stifled cry of pity, but Quarrington seemed not to hear it. "That woman was a twentieth-century Circe." He paused, then added with grim conviction: "There's no forgiveness for a woman like that." "Ah! Don't say that!" The words broke impulsively from Magda's lips.
Magda's brows drew together in a little troubled frown. "Marraine and Gillian will be frightfully worried and anxious," she said uneasily. It was significant of the gradual alteration in her outlook that this solicitude for others should have rushed first of anything to her lips. "Yes." He spoke with a curious abruptness. "Besides, that's not the only point. There's Mrs. Grundy."
Had he meant anything at all? Was it possible that he believed in her now trusted her? It had been in answer to that low, imploring cry of hers "Saint Michel, can't you believe in me?" that he had taken her in his arms. Looking out through the mist-blurred window at the pale streamers of dawnlight penciling the sky, Magda's eyes grew wistful wonderingly questioning the future.
The rigid military father of Magda demands as retribution from Councillor Von Keller that he legalize the love affair. In view of Magda's social and professional success, Keller willingly consents, but on condition that she forsake the stage, and place the child in an institution.
The following evening Magda composedly informed Gillian that she proposed to take a vow of expiation and retire into the community of the Sisters of Penitence for a year. Gillian was frankly aghast; she had never dreamed of any such upshot to the whole miserable business of Magda's broken engagement. "But it is madness!" she protested. "You would hate it!" Magda nodded. "That's just it.
He paused, adding in a tone of finality: "You must break it off." "Break it off? Are you crazy, Antoine?" "No, I'm not crazy. But you're mine. You're meant for me. And no other man shall have you." Magda's first impulse was to order him out of the room. But the man's haggard face was so pitifully eloquent of the agony he had been enduring that she had not the heart.
It was as though he had tossed her an epitome of his opinion of her. Magda's spirit rose in opposition. "Perhaps your experience has been somewhat limited," she observed. "Perhaps it has. If so, I have no wish to extend it." In spite of Michael's taciturnity or perhaps, more truly, on account of it Magda's spirits lightened curiously after that first interview with him.
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