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Updated: June 23, 2025
For Mr. Tiralla, who had noticed his Sophia's nod, now also wanted to show some politeness to little Böhnke, who walked out so regularly to see them all, and brought his Sophia books and the latest news, and sat for hours with the child. It was really very kind of him. So Mr.
He had dragged on a pair of white kid gloves, and was enjoying himself so much that the perspiration was streaming down his face and falling in big drops on to his partner's shoulder. But that was quite immaterial to Mrs. Tiralla at the present moment, and she did not mind either if it were butcher or baker or post office clerk with whom she was dancing, as long as she could dance.
It was still Lent, and the meal was frugal, "but at Easter, my little Böhnke," he cried, filling his mouth with fried potatoes, "at Easter you shall have a feast!" Mrs. Tiralla and the schoolmaster exchanged a glance. What impertinence to say, "my little Böhnke!" But he was always so rough and vulgar. Rosa sat near her father.
Tiralla knelt down by the bedside, and resting her head on her hands which she had folded round those of the child, she began to pray in a soft voice. All the man could see in the twilight had been that bent head, the silky smoothness of which seemed even silkier than usual in the dim light from the shaded lamp.
How quietly Rosa was breathing. She was sleeping so well. Oh, to be a child once more, an innocent child who knows nothing of Life's wickedness. Mrs. Tiralla was filled with an intense longing for innocence and purity, for a blameless, peaceful life. She would go to confession as soon as possible next morning.
She shrugged her shoulders and put on her most stupid and innocent look, whilst her sly eyes roved about. "The Pani would surely not cook anything bad for the master." "No, certainly not," answered Mrs. Tiralla, quite calmly, although her heart almost stood still with terror. No fear must be shown now, not an eyelid must quiver. Ah, she had learnt to dissemble more easily now.
Suddenly a warm hand grasped his, some one chuckled near him in the dark, and the servant's deep voice said half compassionately, half mockingly, "Did you find it slow with Pan Tiralla? I'm sorry. Pani is upstairs with little Rosa. If Pan Böhnke wants to say good night to her " she pushed him in the direction of the stairs and disappeared in the dark, chuckling.
He had to drink in order to get rid of the weight that was oppressing him; drink until he was intoxicated. And he could only arrive at that state with the help of gin. The acquaintances he had met at the inn had been very much surprised at his behaviour. Mr. Tiralla was so quiet; he didn't brag at all about his Sophia. It was as though he had been put to silence.
I'm often terrified, but then my fear disappears. Shall I call on her?" "Yes, oh, yes." At any other time Mr. Tiralla would have burst out laughing, but to-day he nodded eagerly. And then he whispered in the child's ear, but so softly that his Sophia, who stood listening near the table as if ready to pounce on them, could not hear a single word. "I'm so terrified, I don't know why. Pray, pray."
Tiralla?" he said, going close up to him. "You're walking badly." Go to the devil, little Böhnke." But the words "little Böhnke" did not have the usual effect on the schoolmaster, for he felt sorry for the man. Besides, he wanted to know, he must know, how far it had gone with Mrs. Tiralla and Becker.
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