As he entered she was standing in the middle of the [Pg 173] room near the table, holding out a little box. There it was, she did not want to keep it any longer, not a day, not an hour, not a moment longer. She urged him to take it.

What was it, eh? He took the box from her and turned it round, eyeing it curiously. Well, what was he to do with it? He was about to open it, but she held his hand fast. No, he must not open it nor look at it. She might perhaps have regretted it then. "Put it away, put it away," she cried hastily, turning her head aside. "It's the poison! Holy Mother, the poison!"

"What poison?" He felt very astonished; where did this poison come from all at once?

"From Gnesen--from the chemist's--you know, the rat poison," she cried irately.

"Yes, I know." Now he remembered it.

"But----" he started. She had brought it to him to-day? And, _psia krew!_ how strange she was. He stared at her with open mouth.

His stupid expression irritated her. Why did he stare at her like that?

Oh, yes, he could still look at her, but little was wanting and he would never have been able to look at her again. And she would not have been obliged to look at him either. "Alas, alas!" She buried her face in her hands and groaned aloud. Now she had given it back, now she was powerless, helpless, hopeless. "Give it back to me," she cried, and tried to tear it out of his hand.

But this time he held it fast; he put his big fist, in which the little box lay quite hidden, behind his back. "What am I to do with it?" he asked, all at once suspicious. "I thought the rats had eaten it all, and you've got some still?"

"No--yes, yes, they have--no, no, I didn't give it [Pg 174] all." Her voice was unsteady, hesitating. She felt that he suspected something, and it terrified her.

"Oh, I don't know, leave me," she said suddenly, in a faint voice, and broke into a hopeless fit of sobbing, terrified and completely confused.

"_Psia krew!_" Mr. Tiralla raised his brows, and his eyes wandered restlessly from his wife to the little box in his hand, and then from the poison to his wife. He opened the box. H'm, there were still five whole powders left in it, and he had only brought six in the first case. Yes, there had been six. And now? "There are still five powders in it," he murmured.

He was only thinking aloud, but she immediately took it as an accusation. Her pallor changed into burning red, she trembled and swayed so much that she had to rest her hand on the table in order to support herself. It was as though she were standing at the bar. But her present danger helped her to regain her self-command; all at once she was no longer at a loss for a lie.

"There were twelve powders in it," she a.s.serted boldly. "I've used the half--more than the half."

"Really?" He shook his head doubtfully. "Twelve powders, really?"

How strangely he said that. She cast a hasty glance at his face in the hope of being able to read his thoughts. But it was as red and fat as always, perhaps even a little redder. It told her nothing.

She turned to go, full of desperate defiance. Let him think what he liked then; it was all the same to her. She saw him go to the old bureau that stood close to the bed-curtains, in which he kept his money and papers, and then she closed the door with a bang.

Mr. Tiralla remained alone in the room. He was standing near his bureau; he had let the box fall, and [Pg 175] it was lying on the dusty flap that he had just drawn out. He looked down at it, and there was a peculiar, uneasy expression on his face, which had never been there before. He pa.s.sed his hand over his forehead; it was damp. Had that been caused by fear? What absurd nonsense it was to think such things.

His Sophia, his dear Sophia! The poor thing was ill, that was all. Who can understand women who suffer from nerves? Nerves are very bad things, very bad. You never know what to expect.

"Nerves, ah, nerves," he murmured, and stared in front of him. Then he took hold of the box once more, but he did not open it. His dread of the poisonous powders was even greater now than when he had brought them into the house. He turned the box round and round, and then shook it. Would it not be best to throw the horrid things on the fire? Let them burn.

But he did not take the box into the kitchen after all, where Marianna was keeping up a flaring wood fire in order to make the coffee. Later on--to-morrow--when Mikolai had come home--then--then he would burn them. They would be well hidden here in the little drawer where he kept his most important papers, his deeds of mortgage from Posen and other securities, the testimonial he had received on leaving the Agricultural College, his first wife's "In Memoriam" card, and his second wife's marriage certificate. So he pushed the box under them all, locked the drawer, tried carefully to see whether the lock were secure, and put the key on the same bunch with the others which he always carried in his trouser pocket.

There, now that was done, now he would get on with the wreath, which was not yet up. He would also tell them to have the yard thoroughly swept, the [Pg 176] stables and sheds tidied up, as well as the coachhouse, thrashing-floor, and harness-room. Everything was to be bright and clean when the young master came home.

But the man no longer felt happy. Why not? Mr. Tiralla sighed and cast a timorous look round the room. His Sophia's black eyes, which were so beautiful that they could steal a man's heart out of his body, could look very terrible--ugh! very terrible. They gazed at him from every corner; their glances seemed to pierce his body. What was it that Marianna used to say? "Let that wicked look fall on the dog," and then she would make the sign of the cross. He did the same now, but he felt that it was of no avail at the present moment. It did not exorcize the restlessness that made him walk up and down the room, the strange feeling of terror that took possession of him and seemed to encircle him in such an incomprehensible way. What did those eyes betray? Thank G.o.d, Rosa had not such eyes, that looked like black, poisonous berries, like the deadly nightshade that intoxicates you and then kills you.

Mr. Tiralla stood pondering gloomily, his brows contracted. He did not think much as a rule, but to-day he had fallen into a reverie.

He could not recover his good humour, even after he had put the last nail into the wreath with Rosa, and when she went to a sewing cla.s.s in the village--she no longer went to school--he felt quite forlorn.

Nothing was to be seen of Mrs. Tiralla; n.o.body knew what had become of her. So he sat down in the kitchen with the maid--he could not stand being alone--and told her to fetch him something to drink.

She had not got the key of the wine cellar, as the Pani kept it, and there was no wine out. But Mr. [Pg 177] Tiralla put his back firmly against the lattice door. It yielded to his strength and flew open, and in the future it was to remain so.

Marianna triumphantly dragged one bottle after the other upstairs.

It was not yet ten o'clock in the morning when Mr. Tiralla had finished the first bottle of Tokay. But even that did not improve his temper. By eleven o'clock the second bottle had been emptied; but his temper was no better, his head was only heavier. It would have to be gin if he wanted to be in a good humour--real Geneva, which looked as clear as water in the gla.s.s.

When they sat down to dinner Mr. Tiralla ate nothing, his appet.i.te had vanished, but he told them to bring him some beer. Rosa did not eat anything either, she was too happy to eat. She jumped up every moment from her chair to see what time it was. Was it not yet time to fetch her dear brother?

Mrs. Tiralla also came to dinner, but only for a moment. Her eyes were very red, like those of a person who has wept very much, or who feels worn-out. She said she had a great deal to do still, and had no time whatever for dinner, and ran into the kitchen again almost immediately, where she began to mix flour and lard, break eggs, grate sugar, pound spices, and stone raisins. She intended welcoming her son with a fresh cake, warm from the oven, his favourite cake. That touched Mr. Tiralla.

When he got into the carriage with Rosa--she jumped up like a bird, but he found difficulty in getting to his seat--his face looked brighter.

His lip, which was blue and swollen, no longer drooped so much that it almost touched his chin.

Rosa had swung herself on to the front seat next to [Pg 178] her father, and now and then she would take hold of his arm and press it, or poll his ear or stroke his fat, bristly cheek, so that he could not drive. But even if she had not played all these pranks in her great happiness his driving would not have been up to much, for he began to feel the effects of the wine and beer on an empty stomach. He would have liked to sleep; his head fell first to the one side and then to the other, and his eye was no longer steady. He, who generally drove as straight as anybody, could not keep a bee-line to-day.

Roschen chattered incessantly, even when her father did not answer her.

She spoke to the wind, as though it could understand her, and only fanned her so merrily because it was just as happy as she.

The white gossamer threads blew over the big plain, where the fields full of stubble were already being prepared again for the new seed, and hung around the young girl's face. Rosa had put her prettiest dress on, a light blue summer dress. It suited her well, and she did not feel at all cold to-day, although she was very chilly as a rule. Her thin blood coursed warmly through her veins and painted roses on her cheeks, that were usually so pale. How happy she was!

"Mikolai, Mikolai," she sang to the wind. What did he look like?

Handsome and smart, of course, much handsomer and smarter than she remembered him. Her eyes gleamed, her lips burned; she would give him a hearty kiss, many, many hearty kisses. It was nice to be able to kiss somebody whom you were very fond of.

Marianna had washed her head the night before with soft soap, and rubbed pomade well into the hair, so that it should shine brightly and be smooth when Mikolai came. As Rosa did not wish to be outdone by [Pg 179] her, she had put her head into a basin of water. But she could not make up her mind to use the greasy pomade, so her dry hair--brittle like that of all anaemic people--was twice as dry as usual, and stood out like a reddish, curly mane round her head. Her blue ribbon could hardly keep the plait together, and the dry, curly ma.s.s emitted hundreds of sparks as soon as a sunbeam fell on it.

As they drove through Starawies they saw Mr. Bohnke coming out of the rectory. They were stopping for a moment at the inn, as Mr. Tiralla felt so chilly that he wanted a gla.s.s of gin. They called to him, that is, Mr. Tiralla shouted with a loud voice, "Little Bohnke, heigh, little Bohnke. _Psia krew!_ where are your ears?"

The schoolmaster gave a start. He hesitated for a moment; there was the corner, should he not get out of the way quickly, as though he had not heard the call? However, he crossed the street.

There sat Mr. Tiralla in the carriage, fat and red as usual, and there was nothing in his face, neither pallor nor lines of suffering round his mouth, to betray that he had eaten mushrooms, poisonous mushrooms.

Or had she not given him any? If only she had not--oh, if only she had not!

Bohnke came slowly across the broad village street, as though something were holding him back. He had a shrinking feeling when he looked at Mr.

Tiralla. The man had received him hospitably, had been delighted to see him, had put food and drink before him, and he had----No, he was a rough customer, a hog, a bully, quite a vulgar fellow, for whom he had no pity. Had she not set the mushrooms before him? She intended doing so.

Bohnke had not heard anything of Mrs. Tiralla for [Pg 180] a long time, as Rosa no longer came to school. He could have gone to Starydwor, as he had so often done before, but he had not ventured to do so. She would be sure to give him a sign. However, she had not given him one, and in spite of his great longing to see her, he was glad she had not.

He did not want again to see Mr. Tiralla alive.

But there he was, sitting in his carriage in high spirits, tipping his gla.s.s up and laughing to him. Had he the const.i.tution of a giant, or had nothing happened? The schoolmaster stood in front of the carriage with downcast eyes, full of uncertainty and embarra.s.sment.

"Why haven't you been to see us, little Bohnke?" asked Mr. Tiralla upbraidingly. "It's wrong of you; I've had to sit a great deal alone and drink." He gave a loud laugh, but then he added in a gentle voice, "If my Roschen hadn't been there. I suppose, little Bohnke"--he bent down from the box, gave the other man a dig in the ribs, and whispered with a grin--"I suppose there's a woman behind it in your case as well, eh?"

The schoolmaster recoiled; he felt disgusted. Mr. Tiralla's breath smelt of nothing but gin and alcohol. "Oh, I'll come," he answered coldly, and was about to turn away.

But Mr. Tiralla did not let him off so easily. "We're driving to Gradewitz, will you come with us? We're going to fetch my son from the station; he's coming home. He's bringing somebody with him, a nice young fellow. Get up, little Bohnke, get up. This'll be jolly."

But the schoolmaster refused with thanks. He had something to do, he would have to stop at home, he could not get away--no, on no account.

[Pg 181]

However, when he had seen the carriage drive down the village street as quickly as the uneven road and deep ruts permitted, he turned into the fields and walked towards Starydwor instead of going home. She was now alone. It would be a long time before they came back; he would be able to question her without being disturbed, talk to her and hear why her husband had not had any mushrooms. He ran as fast as he could.