all of them. Truly, they do not imitate Europe,--they are Europe.

I remained there about a quarter of an hour indolently musing which of
all these dainty damsels my aunt had chosen for me, when Sniatynski
and his wife came up. I had seen him only a few months ago at Rome,
and had known her, too, for some time. I like her very much; she has a
sweet face and belongs to those exceptional Poles that do not absorb
their husband's whole life, but surrender their own. Presently a young
girl slipped in between us, and while greeting Pani Sniatynska, put
out a small hand encased in a white kid glove and said:--

"Don't you know me, Leon?"

I felt slightly perplexed at this question, for indeed I did not know
who it was that greeted me thus familiarly; but not wishing to seem
rude, I smiled and pressed the little hand, saying, "Of course I do."
I must have looked a little foolish because, presently Pani Sniatynska
burst out laughing and said, "But he does not recognize you; it is
Aniela P."

Aniela, my cousin! No wonder I did not recognize her. The last time
I saw her, some ten or eleven years ago at Ploszow, she wore a short
frock and pink stockings. I remember the midges had stung her about
the legs, and she stamped on the ground like a little pony. How could
I dream that these white shoulders, this breast covered with violets,
this pretty face with the dark eyes, in short, this girl in the full
bloom of maidenhood, was the same as the little wagtail on thin feet
I had known formerly. How pretty she had grown; a fine butterfly
had come from that chrysalis. I renewed my greeting very heartily.
Afterwards when the Sniatynskis had left us she told me that my aunt