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 Just at that moment the bell was rung for the starting of the train. The baron stepped out of the waiting-room and took his seat. There was only one other gentleman in his compartment, and he did not seem at all inclined to begin a conversation, so the baron had time to think over the news he had just heard from the forester; and the more he thought, the more wildly did the blood pulse through his brain and heart. He hardly knew Father Cvok, except as he had heard of him from Jenny, who always spoke of him in the highest term—as a man of uncommon learning, of pure principles, and noble efforts, rising far above the atmosphere of commonplace mediocrity; and he could not but feel respect for the man whom Jenny so highly honoured. This man had received into his house somebody’s baby—a boy, too! Was it possible that Jenny

He did not venture to finish the sentence even in thought. The fear of his mother gave him a shiver, but only for the first moment; then his courage raised its head, and, like old Melnik wine, sent a warm glow through his heart, and opened a prospect of a happy future. Everything seemed to say that his supposition must be true; that Jenny, who from obstinacy and mistaken pride had gone out again into the world to earn her bread, must have confided her child to the good priest, to preserve her independence. If that were so—and the baron did not allow himself to doubt it—then the drama of his heart was not at an end; on the contrary, it had taken a turn which might prove not a little favourable.

“If I have her little son in my power,” he wound up thinking, “then I am the master and director of the whole future, in spite of Jenny.”