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Updated: June 27, 2025
Pirka fed the dove and gave it water, and then stuck it into Michal's pocket again. "There now!" she said. "She feels all the better for that, I know." Then she covered up the pretty lady with a warm counterpane and a bearskin, and while doing so caught sight of the small silk sachet which was fastened round her neck. Pirka's eyes began to sparkle savagely.
The reason why pretty, unhappy Michal no longer heard the field-trumpet in the courtyard was because Pirka had already sent off Simplex to seek the beloved of Michal's heart; for the old witch had already discovered that this beloved was Simplex's bosom friend but that was all. Let her find out the truth for herself! What else was she a witch for?
Now when anybody sneezes on Friday it signifies that his enemies will triumph over him. So, at least, Pirka interpreted it. Then she observed that the iron window shutters had been left open all night, and she scolded Michal for it. "It is not good," she said, "to sleep in moonlight, for it draws all the strength out of one's heart."
They were so pleased with it that they fell to kissing each other over and over again, and in their joy had almost wasted a kiss or two on Pirka herself, which would have been a useless piece of extravagance. "But we cannot take service with all our silk clothes and gewgaws," said Pirka. "We must put on the rustic dress in which we came hither."
Even the last day and the last night of a condemned felon must come to an end. Let them once get over this unpleasant day and they would go right away. They would have a home of their own, a quiet, peaceful parsonage all to themselves, with a large flower garden and a dove-cot. Barbara Pirka had prophesied rightly.
She had already kept vigil for two nights running, and now her slumber was tormented by frightful dreams till, when the morning was far advanced, Barbara Pirka came and woke her. The housekeeper brought the sleeper a steaming wine-posset in a porcelain bowl. Michal was not in the least refreshed by her repose. She felt weaker than ever. A parching thirst tormented her. All her bones ached.
Pirka greeted her with strangely sounding words, not one of which Michal understood, and the kopanitschar's wife answered in the same fashion. "Have you offered up a witch's prayer, and if so, for what have you prayed?" "I have prayed that the devil may take the old vihodar." "He has got him already. Janko bit him in the neck, and immediately he was a dead man."
Henry Catsrider, therefore, might be quite sure that he had become an orphan and a widower on the same day. At Bártfa, meanwhile, Pirka got Michal a place in a respectable shopkeeper's family, where they willingly took her in because she was so very plain. It was a sort of guarantee that no one would attempt to court her, and thereby deprive them of a useful servant.
Someone standing outside whispered to them: "Pst! be quiet! The lady keeps her bed!" "If she keeps her bed, she must be ill!" so thought they all. When it was dark, Barbara Pirka came down again and lit the lamp in Michal's room. How happy the evening hours had been to Michal at home, when she could go to her book-shelves and take down her learned folios. Then she had never felt alone.
Michal cried: "Jesus, Maria!" and shrieked aloud for terror. But Pirka laughed, and said to her: "Ha, ha! my pretty little lady! You can't lock out a witch you see. A witch can find her way in through any loophole." Michal really believed that Pirka had come straight out of the water, although her clothes and boots were quite dry.
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