Spring: -I- -II- -III-
The Stamp Album: -IV- -V- -VI- -VII- -VIII- -IX- -X- -XI- -XII-
In the Municipal Park: -XIII- -XIV- -XV- -XVI-
Springtime Twilight: -XVII-
The Villa: -XVIII- -XIX- -XX- -XXI- -XXII- -XXIII- -XXIV- -XXV- -XXVI- -XXVII-
Bianka’s Lineage: (XXVIII) -XXIX- -XXX- -XXXI- -XXXII- -XXXIII-
Hiatus: -XXXIV- -XXXV- -XXXVI- -XXXVII-
Finale: -XXXVIII- -XXXIX- -XL-
XXVIII
EVENTS are sweeping past at a crazy pace. Bianka’s father has arrived. I was standing today at the corner of ulica Fontann and ulica Skarabeusza, when a glistening open landau drove by, with a wide and shallow carriage like a seashell. In that white, silk scallop I glimpsed Bianka, half reclining in a tulle dress. Her gentle profile was shaded by the ruffle of her hat, which, pulled down, was held in place by a ribbon tied under her chin. She was sinking almost entirely in eye-trim feathers of foulard, sitting beside a gentleman in a black frock coat and a white piqué waistcoat upon which a heavy chain shone in gold, along with a multitude of pendants. Beneath his black bowler hat, pulled deep down, a closed, gloomy face with sideburns loomed grey. I trembled deeply at that sight. There could be no doubt. This was M. de V...
As the elegant carriage drove past me, the rumble of its flexible frame opulently discrete, Bianka said something to her father, who turned and cast a look my way from behind his great, dark spectacles. He had the face of an old lion without a mane.
In exultation, almost frantic from the most contradictory feelings, I cried: ‘Count on me..!’ and ‘To my last drop of blood...’ and I fired into the air from a pistol I took out from under my jacket.
> -XXIX >