to lead the conversation round to Roslawski.
"Do you know London?" I ask.
"Oh, yes; I was there; a long time ago, when I had just finished my University studies."
"I think Roslawski went there for about six months."
"Yes, and he is there still."
My strength has just been put to the test, and I am satisfied. The news I hear neither makes my lips tremble, nor dims my dark-golden eyes with the slightest mist. But I am careful not to pretend either indifference or special good humour. Obojanski, in spite of his weak points, is no mean expert in the knowledge of human nature.
"Indeed! Why, I was informed he had returned to Warsaw already."
"No. I am expecting him about the middle of this month. He is a nice fellow, is he not? We three got on very well together."
"I hope you don't mean that we two do not get on well," I answer, smiling amiably.
He shows me a post-card that he has got from Roslawski: water, some shipping, and an ugly building ashore, with innumerable windows. I for the first time see his hand-