Part 3 (1/2)
”The essence of real love,” remarked the oracle, as they left for the Hotel Europe at last, ”is sacrifice. A man who's not ready for that is no lover.”
And again Ian felt comforted.
He stopped two days in town, saw his lawyer anent Vanda's dowry, looked at sables, bought her a diamond pendant, and prepared to leave his cousin. This last much against his will. With his old impetuosity, he was playing heavily at his club, where a few gamblers lingered, detained for lack of funds to take them abroad. They hailed Skarbek's coming with joy, knew all about his fantastic winnings, and set about fleecing him.
”You'd be far happier if you settled down,” said Ian as they finished lunch on the day of his departure. He could not understand any full-grown man caring to live from day to day. For him, happiness lay in the even road, a steady income, regular employment and an entire absence of excitement.
”Settle down?” echoed the other. ”On what?”
”You've that money you won at Monte Carlo. Bank it and let me tackle your Jews.”
Roman laughed bitterly.
”Ten thousand roubles of that money is in other men's pockets,” and he named two who lived upon their earnings at the green table. ”They're off to Ostend this evening.”
”You're a d.a.m.ned fool,” was his cousin's verdict.
”I know it. But who would gain by my being wise?”
Ian looked him straight in the eyes. Roman noticed how clear and honest they were, with their tale of outdoor life, their gaze of the man who has found himself and keeps his house in order. Yet there was nothing priggish about him. He enjoyed life thoroughly. It was not the life of champagne suppers and high stakes; but he took his pint of Veuve Clicquot and played his game, conformed to the customs of his cla.s.s.
The difference was that such pleasures were incidents for him; for Roman they had become necessities.
”You know perfectly well that your Prussian government and my Russian one like to see us Poles squander our lives and money,” retorted the squire.
”They do,” agreed the gambler.
Ian saw his chance and followed it up, speaking earnestly, his habitual shyness undermost for the moment.
”They like to get us off the land because that is the rock bottom of national existence,” he said. ”Lots of people forget it. England is forgetting it. Every time I go there I see it clearer. But Prussia hasn't forgotten it for a moment these last hundred years. And she's taught the Russians something about it, too.”
”I never had any land,” protested Roman. ”Joe got it, and has kept it.
I'll say that for him.”
”You can buy land.”
”Not under Prussian law.”
”Become a Russian subject.”
”Easier said than done.”
”I'll help you,” Ian said eagerly. ”Do you remember Kuklin?”
”That little place near Ruvno?”
”Yes. It's for sale.” He did not add that the owner had ruined himself in places like the _Oaza_. ”The land's first cla.s.s. The house is a hovel. But it's only five versts from us and you can stop at Ruvno till you've built something fit to live in. I'll give you the materials and help you with the labor. The chief outbuildings are brick and in good condition. The squire is a good farmer when he remembers to stop at home. It's a bargain.”
Roman was interested.
”I suppose the Jews will buy it.”