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"Oh, I love those my brother loves," Rosa had replied. "God be with you," said Marianna, in a calm voice, as she shook hands with Jendrek, and put up her mouth for him to kiss. He was going to Mr. Jokisch, so it was not as though he were going far away. "If ever you care to see me, you need only whistle under my window, and I'll come out," she added. Mrs.
That was his highest trump card, but even that did not seem to excite any indignation, for every one present was busily occupied in devising a plan by which he could curry favour with the fair Sophia. But the priest smiled. "You're biassed, Mr. Jokisch, biassed. There's nothing wrong with Mrs. Tiralla." "She's a good woman, a really good woman," agreed the gendarme.
Jokisch had received the first and last kick from him as they all together had conveyed the heavy man to the door. "Throw him out, that slanderer!" He always did so when there was any quarrelling going on in the private room at the inn, otherwise he would have been obliged to write down the names of these disturbers of the peace.
How dared he say a single word against Mrs. Tiralla, even when he was drunk? The schoolmaster had been quite right this time. Jokisch was to keep a civil tongue in his head. He was a henpecked husband, a tattler. All the bachelors jeered at the inspector.
And when the other man had stared at him in a disconcerted kind of way, he had continued in a voice that was still calmer, "You envious scoundrel, psia krew! Don't you know my Sophia? Do you think it's that what's oppressing me? Not that, oh God, not that!" And he had given a loud sigh, and burying his head once more in his hands had said no more. Then Jokisch had said good night.
There were so many visitors the next and following Sunday as Starydwór had not seen within its walls for many a day. Mr. Jokisch and Mr. Schmielke came, as well as the forester and the gendarme and all their friends from Starawieś and Gradewitz. Even the priest was there. The big room was quite full of visitors. Refreshments were brought in, Tokay and beer, and Mrs.
Tiralla"? That would have been the proper thing for them to do. The schoolmaster continued to bite his lips and stare in front of him, pale and morose. But a spark had fallen into the straw, and the former peaceful conversation was at an end. Jokisch and Schmielke suddenly commenced quarrelling. Jokisch, who had already drunk too much, began to speak disparagingly about Mrs. Tiralla.
Jokisch, in black, trimmed with mauve and a white lace collar, looked exactly like her own grandmother. How a man's soul seems to show itself in his garments. Mr. Böhnke, the schoolmaster, stood in a corner of the ballroom criticizing the company.
One man after the other had said good night, first the priest, then the gendarme, then the forester, then Mr. Schmielke. Jokisch, as a good neighbour, had stopped the longest with Mr. Tiralla.
Jokisch was certainly a fine-looking man, and Böhnke felt firmly convinced that he also found Mrs. Tiralla very fascinating, in spite of all he had said to the contrary, for who would not? Perhaps that was the very reason why he had been so angry with her. Then the schoolmaster began to run. There it lay.
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