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Updated: May 23, 2025
Tiralla had been very ill, so ill that her anxious husband had not only sent for the doctor from Gradewitz, but also for the best physician in Gnesen. Both doctors had assured him, however, that there was no danger, that his young wife was only very weak and nervous. Mr. Tiralla could not understand why. Mrs. Tiralla now got up from her prayers.
How could she have slept when her heart trembled between fear and hope, when at one moment it had seemed to her as though the events of the afternoon had only been a prelude, as though Martin were going away at once and for ever, and the next as though he had been given back to her, and Mr. Tiralla were going away for ever? She had wept and called on the saints.
"That's enough for the present," said Mr. Tiralla. "But listen, girl," he added, pinching her in the thigh so that she screamed aloud, "go down to the cellar and fetch us another bottle of Tokay. And where's the gin? You must have a glass to begin with, little Böhnke, or you'll catch cold.
No, it was not Mikolai, for he was sitting behind with his father, and had his little sister between his knees. But now he also jumped down, went up to his stepmother, who was standing in the doorway, and held out his hand. She kissed him on both cheeks and smiled at him. He also smiled, and she felt that the reception had pleased him. "Here we are," shouted Mr. Tiralla.
You could not believe all the gossip of the inn, but he would get at the truth from the man himself, the husband who had been insulted and deceived. So after Mr. Tiralla had stumbled several times, Böhnke took hold of his arm. "Do let me accompany you," he said in an anxious, friendly voice. "All right then," he growled. The man's solicitude did him good after all.
Tiralla kept his eyes open, although he felt fit to drop with fatigue. What would Sophia say if he were to upset her once more? "I'm sorry, my dear," he murmured, in a crestfallen voice. She said nothing. As they reached the gate, they found it wide open just as they had left it. The front door was not locked either, the latch was, of course, down, but the door had not been bolted.
Then I got curious, and felt I must go into the house. The woman came out of the room at once. 'Where's Mr. Tiralla? I asked, and at the same moment I heard a voice saying, 'Who is it, Sophia darling?
"Psia krew, what are you doing there?" cried Mr. Tiralla. He had awaked. She wheeled round and they gazed at each other with pale faces. She stood there like a delicate, feathery leaf that a breath of wind has caused to tremble; but he was trembling too. Neither of them was capable of saying a word. Mr.
Tiralla often heard her husband and the maid laughing together as she sat in her room upstairs; and drinking as well, for she could hear them draw four or five corks every evening. Ugh! how he could drink! The woman shuddered with disgust. There was that monster sitting with the vulgar hussy, cracking jokes that were anything but refined, and drinking hard. How could he forget himself like that!
Tiralla had placed a footstool in her bedroom under her picture of the Saviour carrying His flaming heart in His hand. The priest of her youth had left Starawieś long ago he had asked to be removed from the neighbourhood but she still prayed a great deal. It was the morning after Mr.
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