And it seemed to the knight that he was a species of perjurer before that bright soul whose memory he should honor and hold as sacred. Sorrow and immeasurable shame seized him, and self-contempt. He desired death.
“Anulya,”[11] repeated he, on his knees, “I shall not cease to bewail thee till death; but what am I to do now?”
The white form gave no answer to that as it vanished like a light mist; and instead of it appeared in the imagination of the knight Krysia’s eyes and her lip covered with down, and with it temptations from which the knight wished to free himself. So his heart was wavering in uncertainty, suffering, and torment. At moments it came to his head to go and confess all to Zagloba, and take counsel of that man whose reason could settle all difficulties. And he had foreseen
