you will like to see, and am your loving mother. . . .’
There it was! That was the reference to the letter!
Ivan Hron wiped his forehead and read his mother-in-law’s letter again, and then that of little eleven-years-old Magda. His wife’s name!
He re-read it with the utmost attention.
Now, alas! he understood; but he also felt as though his head would burst. His Magda, his wife is little Magda’s . . . impossible!
He sprang to his feet, caught up the little box, and went to his room with it. He locked the door, so as not to be disturbed, and hastily turned out the contents: letters, photographs, empty envelopes. But in spite of his eagerness he was careful to put them down in their proper order, so that nothing should betray afterwards that he had read anything. He felt like a criminal while he was following up Magda’s secret. But even if it should be a crime, he was going to commit it!
His hands were trembling feverishly, as he went through the papers; he took all his father- and mother-in-law’s letters out of their envelopes, read them at a glance . . .
288 E3
