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Updated: May 27, 2025
Then he staggered to the washstand and stuck his head, which felt dizzy, deep down into the basin. How his face smarted. He was cooling it as the maid came in. Marianna clasped her hands in dismay. "What is it, Panje?" Oh, dear, what a sight Pan Tiralla was. It was awful, his face was scratched all over. Where had he got it? Had he fallen amongst thorns?
"I came past the farm the other day on my way from the Przykop, and found the servant lounging at the gate Marianna Śroka, from Althof, you know, a buxom lass, but awfully cheeky. 'Panje, said she in a low voice, and crept close up to me, 'Panje, there's murder in that house. She pointed to the Tirallas' house and made such eyes, she looked quite mad. She wouldn't let me go.
Rosa was lying in bed and her mother was sitting on the bed near her. They both stared at him in astonishment, but when he said with a voice that hesitated at first, but then grew firmer, that he felt he couldn't leave without hearing how she was, the child looked pleased. "I'm very well," she answered, with a shy smile. "Very well, thank you, Panje Böhnke." "She's feverish," said her mother.
"I rely upon you, Panje Böhnke," she whispered, and then, raising her voice, she added calmly and distinctly, "Don't fall. Here's the staircase, here." Mr. Tiralla's powerful voice was heard downstairs. "Where are you, Sophia? Let the devil take hold of you by the tip of your shift. Why don't you come to me, my little dove, my darling?"
When I said to him, 'Don't weep, Panje Böhnke, my husband, the stas, also drank himself to death, he did nothing but repeat, 'Oh my mother, my mother! and groaned so that he made my heart come into my mouth. She won't be pleased when her son comes home like that. God have mercy on us all. Oh, Mr. Böhnke, Mr. Böhnke, what a good lodger he was."
She gave him a slight push with the point of her new shoe; how tipsy he was. "Wake up, master," she said. "Finish your sleep in bed, I'll help you into it." What pleasant dreams he was having. It seemed to her that there was a smile on his face. She bent over him. "Panje, Paniczek!" Mr. Tiralla was icy-cold; he was dead.
Poor master! and how ill he looked, it was enough to make your hair stand on end. She felt very sorry for the old gentleman. Were they not all making fun of him? And he had always been so good to her. So she gave him a cheery smile and clapped him on the back. "You must not fret, Panje. Don't fret because your wife is good friends with Becker."
"Drat you! it's you who have vexed the mistress." "No, no, Panje, not I. It was the rats, I swear it. If only the gospodarz would go down into the cellar he would see for himself how they run on the floor and jump up the walls. And in my kitchen he can see the cockroaches hundreds of thousands, hundred thousand millions of them!
"Be quiet, Panje, be quiet," she said; "she mustn't, she won't do anything to you. I, Marianna, am here, you know. And if she dares after all " "Yes, oh, yes," he broke in hastily, "then you'll go to the police station and say, 'It was she, she, who brought the master to his grave." Yes, by God she would, the master could rely upon her.
She stood as though rooted to the spot. Oh dear, how frightened she had been. What was he doing there? What did he mean by going to sleep there, and frightening people who came unsuspectingly into the stables out of their wits? "Panje, Panje Tiralla," she called. "Do get up, gospodarz!" She had come up to him now; he did not move.
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