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Updated: May 7, 2025
The woman was the Pani, she could do what she liked; but strangers were not to hurt her master, she would not stand that. The maid grinned like a gnome; it served the schoolmaster right. If the Pani had chosen this man, then she, Marianna, would take Mr. Mikolai; he was not at all bad.
He had no fault to find with the old man, who had given him many a cigar and penny for a drink, but he did not approve of those young fellows. He would prefer to seek another place and another sweetheart. Mr. Tiralla was rather pleased that Jendrek wanted to leave, although he would never have had the heart to give him notice. For when Mikolai was at home, his dear Mikolai, he would help him.
Martin, however, was not pleased to see him; he had begun to turn his drawers and looked up disagreeably surprised when Mikolai came so unexpectedly into the room. "What do you want?" he asked in an angry voice, hastily throwing a bundle of clothes into his box which he locked. "Are you already packing?" inquired Mikolai. Then he added, "I suppose you can't await the day of your departure?
The young fellow had a feeling as though he must turn round and run away. He was still hesitating when the woman drew him forcibly towards her, and he felt her icy-cold fingers gripping his wrist. "Martin, Martin," she whispered softly in his ear, "he's dead, now you needn't go." Her voice was only just audible, for Mikolai and Rosa were kneeling at the bedside. But Martin had not noticed them.
He held out his hand to her, although he could hardly bring himself to do it. All at once he feared her hand, it was as though something were dragging him away from it. "I prefer to go immediately. Mikolai is there, he'll arrange everything for you. I cannot cannot stay any longer." And he rushed out of the door and into the yard. She stood there as if turned to stone, and her eyes were fixed.
Mikolai had promised faithfully to take a short walk in the fields with her after supper she found the Paninka lying on the floor, pale and almost fainting, as though all the blood had left her body. Poor little thing! The maid lifted the light body on to the bed and began to undress her. But Rosa resisted with a wail and kept firm hold of her clothes.
Why was she so angry? Becker would be sure to come back when it grew dark. Maybe he had gone to the village; it was long since he, Mikolai, knew anything about his whereabouts. That did not add to the woman's peace of mind. So Martin kept away from Mikolai too. He was separating himself more and more from them all. "O God, have mercy! let him come back, let him come back!"
"Mikolai, my son, help me down from this confounded conveyance." They all helped him. "Oh, mummy, how dreadful!" whispered Rosa to her mother as she clung to her. "I believe daddy has been drinking too much. He stopped everywhere." "That doesn't matter," answered Mrs. Tiralla, pushing her daughter aside. Then she bade her son's friend, Martin Becker, who had driven so smartly, a smiling welcome.
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?
But still, if Mikolai were holding him, if they were quarrelling, struggling with each other, the one wanting to go, the other endeavouring to hold him back? Hark, what a noise! How Mikolai was shouting! "What is it, what is it?" cried Mrs. Tiralla, as she stood in front of her stepson, panting. "Where, where is he?" She caught hold of her stepson's arm. But then she bethought herself.
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