The Migoúrskis were happy in their love. Directing all their power of love to one another, among strangers they felt like two people who, having lost their way in winter, are in danger of being frozen, and warm one another. The devotion of the old nurse, Ludwíka, good-naturedly grumbling, comical, always falling in love with every man she met, but slavishly and self-sacrificingly attached to her young mistress, contributed to the Migoúrskis’ happiness. They were also happy in their children. A year after their marriage, a boy was born; and eighteen months later, a girl. The boy was the very image of his mother: the same eyes, the same vivacity and grace. The girl was a healthy pretty little animal.

The Migoúrskis’ misfortune was their exile from home, and especially the unpleasant humiliation of their position. Albína, in particular, suffered from this degradation. He, her Josy, her hero⁠—that ideal man⁠—had to draw himself up erect before every officer he met, go through manual exercises, stand sentinel, and obey every order without demur.