As Marianna placed the dish on the table at which the man, woman, and child were already seated, Mrs. Tiralla turned deadly pale. She gave a start as her husband began at once to help himself; it seemed as though she were about to grip his arm.

"G.o.d bless it!" said the maid, in a loud voice, and [Pg 148] then, turning round, she furtively made the sign of the cross and spat three times. Ugh, mushrooms! She shuddered. And how strange the mistress was; she must also be afraid, her face was so pale. Marianna ran out of the room, she felt all at once so frightened. How could anybody eat mushrooms? Ugh! She again felt the horrible, choking sensation which had oppressed her heart and numbed her limbs the time she was so ill.

She could not fight against it. She crouched near the fire and folded her hands, she was so terribly frightened. But one thing she did know, and that was as soon as she could she would go to the priest--no, rather to the gendarme. But then she rejected the idea of the gendarme, for would he believe her? But if she could swear to it by all the saints? But she could not swear to it, not exactly swear to it.

However, she would tell the priest about it. What a house this was! How dreadful it was for a poor servant girl like her to have to serve in such a place. She wept bitterly.

However, when Jendrek knocked at the kitchen door a moment later for her to come out, she ran behind the stable to him and forgot her master and the mushrooms.

Mrs. Tiralla noted with horror with what relish her husband was eating the mushrooms. She felt quite numbed, she could not move. But when Rosa asked for some, too--they smelt so good, she had taken a fancy to them--she screamed, "They're too indigestible for you. I shall not eat any either. We can't touch them."

So Mr. Tiralla finished them all. "I've not tasted anything I liked do well for a long time," he said with a fat smile as he stroked his paunch. "That's because my little daughter has gathered them for me and my [Pg 149] dear wife has cooked them. Thanks, both of you." He nodded to his daughter and took hold of his wife's hand and kissed it.

He was remarkably gentle, so strangely tender. His wife felt startled, his voice already sounded quite different. She watched him with anxious eyes--he had asked for a gla.s.s of gin after the rich food--did he feel ill already? She could scarcely keep her feet quiet under the table.

Away, away, oh, how she would have liked to run away; she did not want to look on any longer.

"Give me a kiss, Sophia darling," begged her husband.

She humoured him. It would be the last, why should she refuse him the last kiss?

He drew her on his knee. Then he sent Rosa out of the room; she was to go to bed so that she could get up next morning and fetch lots of mushrooms. "Go, go, I say," he urged, as she clung to him tenderly.

However much he loved her, he had only thoughts for his Sophia at present. She was so good, so affectionate to-day; oh, G.o.d, were the good times returning?

Marianna was in her first deep sleep that night when she heard her master's door creak. Suddenly everything came back to her. Holy Mother, the mushrooms. Did he feel very bad? The poor master! She jumped out of bed as quick as lightning and rushed to the door. But when she tore it open, she saw that it was only her mistress who had just carefully closed the master's door opposite and was standing outside. What had she been up to in that room? The maid almost screamed, she was so surprised.

Mrs. Tiralla looked frightened when she caught [Pg 150] sight of the maid, and they stared at each other for some moments. Then the woman put her finger to her lips, "Sh! I--I--couldn't sleep upstairs--I heard something--and I thought of thieves--yes, thieves--and then I ran down."

"Oh, there are no thieves here." The maid gave a loud laugh, it sounded too ridiculous that the Pani, who had never been afraid of thieves, should suddenly speak of them. Surely she had not come down on account of them? But why? It had never occurred to her to creep down to Mr.

Tiralla before? Marianna's eyes grew very big. But then she suddenly thought, she has wanted to see how he feels after the food, for he ate every bit of it, the poor man. Marianna sighed. Then she cast an insolent glance at her mistress and said:

"Well, and how's the master? I suppose he's not very well, eh?"

"Why, why?" asked the woman, trembling. But then she grew calm, the girl's impertinent glances helped her to regain her composure. "I don't know what you mean," she said in a lofty tone. "Mr. Tiralla is sleeping quietly." With a slight nod she turned away and crept so softly up to her room that not a stair creaked.

Driven by curiosity Marianna put her head into her master's room. All was dark; she could see nothing, but she heard him breathing regularly and deeply. He did not even groan, he was sleeping so quietly. Was he still alive? She groped her way to the bed. Thank G.o.d, there he lay warm and comfortable.

As she bent over him he stretched out his arms and stammered, half asleep, "Heigh, darling!"

[Pg 151]

Mrs. Tiralla was standing before her gla.s.s upstairs looking at her pale, disfigured face. She felt overcome with shame, a shame that was even greater than her terror. What must the maid have thought of her?

Dark lines under her eyes, her hair dishevelled, her face all mottled.

Oh, G.o.d! She had submitted to it all--and he was still alive. She was seized with a violent fit of fury, she would have liked to destroy everything, smash everything to pieces. Pressing her clenched fists against her forehead she uttered a deep groan. She was the one who had been deceived, she always was. Bohnke, too, had deceived her. Had he not told her that fly agarics--the orange-red mushrooms with white warts--were very poisonous, and that the devil's toadstool--the brown, squat one which so strongly resembled the _boletus edulis_--was even more so? He had brought a book with him, and had read it to her secretly in the little garden with the palings all round, where they had stolen like a pair of lovers who want to be as far away from everybody as possible. He had also shown her the ill.u.s.trations, and she had watched most carefully as he pointed out what the poisonous mushrooms looked like. She had impressed it firmly on her memory. Four fly agarics were enough to bring death, people said, but he--he lived.

But had she not also read in the schoolmaster's book that "death can either occur in the course of an hour or two, or after two or three days"? H'm, Mr. Tiralla was very strong, what would kill any other man scarcely affected him. She would have to wait then, wait.

She threw herself on her knees. If only he had died at once, this waiting was so awful. She dreaded the thought of what the morrow might bring forth. She had been calm enough while cooking the mushrooms, [Pg 152] but now she was the reverse. She could hardly bear to wait any longer. But now it was no longer a great longing for his death, which was to bring her release, it was only a fervent desire to be free from this great fear which oppressed her heart and confused her senses. She sprang up from her knees as though she were out of her mind, then threw herself down again, the next moment to jump up once more and raise her clasped hands to heaven. "Mary, Holy Virgin, pray for me!" What was the Holy Virgin to pray for? Oh, she knew what for; knew better than she did herself, for _she_ did not know any longer. Life? Death? Alas, alas, now she would have preferred him to live; only not to see him lying there distorted with convulsions, and with the hue of death already on his face.

The woman crept into the darkest corner of the room like a frightened animal, and bit her hands, which she had pressed against her mouth, and wept and trembled. How slowly the night crept on, would it never, never be day? How quietly Rosa was breathing. She was sleeping so well. Oh, to be a child once more, an innocent child who knows nothing of Life's wickedness.

Mrs. Tiralla was filled with an intense longing for innocence and purity, for a blameless, peaceful life. She would go to confession as soon as possible next morning. She would confess everything, so that she could breathe once more as quietly as her child. Even at the last examination of conscience she had not been able to find the right expression for what was stirring in her heart. But now, when the sins against the fifth commandment were being enumerated: "Have you by means of blows, curses, and such-like injured yourself or others, are you angry, envious, revengeful, have you lived in hatred and enmity with others, have [Pg 153] you grieved others by bitter words, have you hurt them intentionally?" now she would strike her breast and cry, "Yes, yes," so that she might say later on, "I thank Thee, Divine Redeemer, that Thou hast given me absolution and forgiveness for my sins in the Sacrament of Penance."

Then she grew more composed; the mere thought of confession calmed and relieved her immeasurably. She recovered so far as to creep out of her corner and go to Rosa's bed, although she was still trembling, and wake her. "Let us pray, dear," she said, clasping her hands round those of the child.

"What shall we pray?" inquired Rosa, who was always ready to pray and was instantly wide awake.

"Repeat the Act of Desire used at the preparation for Holy Communion."

"Oh, mother, I don't know it." Rosa bent her head in deep shame.

"But I do," said Mrs. Tiralla. "Lord, my soul is longing for Thee. Let me again to-day partake of Thy saving grace. Thou knowest my misery, come. Thou who hast redeemed me by Thy blood, O Son of G.o.d. When Thy holy body, O most sweet Jesus, unites itself with my body, and Thy holy soul has poured itself into my soul, oh, what a new, happy life I shall lead. Be gracious to us. Hear us."

She repeated it in a loud voice, and the child raised her hands devoutly and with a pious shudder murmured it after her mother.

When Mrs. Tiralla came down next morning it was late. She had at last fallen asleep whilst kneeling by Rosa's bedside, so that she did not see the sunbeam dancing on the wall, nor hear the c.o.c.k crowing, the clatter of the milk pails, the squeaking of the chain in [Pg 154] the old well, nor the lowing of the cattle. She had fallen into a dead sleep. And when she at last started up in confusion, awakened by Rosa's caressing touch, she did not venture to go downstairs. She sent the child. "Look if he's up."

But Rosa did not return. Why did she not come? Mrs. Tiralla waited and waited; the minutes seemed to lengthen themselves into hours. Holy Mother, what had happened downstairs, as the child did not return?

Courage, courage, courage! She pressed both hands to her heart that was throbbing furiously. If only she had never come to Starydwor, if only she had remained the poorest among the poor, the most wretched among the wretched.

She listened involuntarily. Hark, was that not his voice? No, neither scream nor groan reached her ear. There was no help for it, she would have to go downstairs. It would seem so strange if she were to remain in her room any longer; she would have to go down at once.

She drew a deep breath, tore the door open, took a run and rushed downstairs. Where was he lying? Where should she find him?

"Good morning," said Mr. Tiralla. He was in a good humour and was just coming out of his room. His eyes were still full of sleep and he was rubbing them.

But his eyes were quite clear, they still saw the light of day. The woman started back as though she had seen a ghost.

"Why are you so frightened, eh?" he cried, laughing. "You've slept too long, I suppose? Ha, ha."

She did not answer. Even if her life had depended upon it, she could not have uttered a single word. It was too terrible, too terrible!

He did not pay any attention to her silence nor to [Pg 155] her disturbed looks. He was in a very happy frame of mind and was waving a letter in his hand, a letter from his soldier son.

Mikolai had not written for a long time, he did not care for writing.

But now he wrote:

"Dear Parents,--Your son, Mikolai, sends you his love, and he is very well. I can tell you I am pleased to get away from the army. It is not the work for me, I prefer to till the ground. And my friend, Martin Becker, who is a miller by profession, but has not got a mill at present, because, although he has some money, it is not enough to buy a big mill, and he won't have a small one, will come home with me. He will help to manage the farm. Dear father, you will not want so many hands then; we will do everything, and you will like Martin. He has no parents, and hails from Klein-Hauland, near Opalenitza. I will let you know the day we are coming. Dear mother, if you will be kind to Becker I shall be grateful to you, for he is a good fellow. Dear sister, I kiss you in my thoughts; our Rosa has, no doubt, grown into a pretty girl. We shall come, all being well, in seven weeks' time. With a kiss to you all, "Your affectionate Son."

That was his son, just as he was in reality, his dear, good son. A sudden affection for the boy who had been away from home so long awoke in Mr. Tiralla's heart. It was such a long time since he had seen anything of him. He had been away almost three years, and although he had twice driven to Breslau during that time and had looked him up at the barracks, still it was very different from having him at home. It was a good thing that the boy was coming.

It seemed to Mr. Tiralla as though he had been thinking of his Mikolai the whole time he had been [Pg 156] away; but that had not been the case. How could he have had leisure to think of him? All, all his thoughts had been taken up with his Sophia. But now he was filled with an impatient longing for his son; he could hardly await the time when the reserves would be dismissed. If only he were at home. The evenings were already growing long; there were no more beautiful summer evenings, for the weather had turned cool and dreary unusually early.

Such evenings were very dismal in Starydwor if you had n.o.body to sit and talk to.

Mrs. Tiralla was ill, and her strange behaviour had made her husband quite ill, too. His Sophia! What was the matter with her? Was she angry with him? He ransacked his brain to find out what he had done to her, but he found nothing. He had done his utmost to put her into a good humour. He had driven to Rosenthal's in Gnesen and bought her a smart black-and-white check coat and skirt. It suited her admirably, and when she had it on she looked like a fine lady going on her travels. But all he could get from her was a feeble, "I should have preferred a black costume." Then he had driven to Gnesen and ordered her a black costume, and as that had not turned out satisfactory, he had even gone to Posen about it. But when he had brought it home--it had been nice and dear--she had only said, "But I can't wear it after all." The deuce, why not? The truth was, he never could do anything to please her. That made him very low-spirited. Why was she so perverse? Why did she look at him so strangely?

He had caught one of those rare glances she vouchsafed him, and it had bewildered him. He had asked Marianna if she knew why her mistress was in such a bad humour, and why she frowned so.