id in a friendly voice, and held out
her hand. It felt like velvet as it lay in his, but it was as cold as
ice. He ventured to press it slightly; but she did not return the
pressure, she only gave him a sad look out of her splendid eyes and
smiled a little. Oh, that poor woman! How he would have liked to give
that abominable fellow a blow as he lay on the bench.

Mr. Tiralla was in a very good humour. He shouted to Marianna to fetch
beer and gin, and then told his wife to bring out some food. Boehnke
will be hungry--such a schoolmaster is always hungry--bring what [Pg
72] you can find: ham, eggs, cake, sausages, cheese, and what else
you've got in the larder. "We've got plenty." Then, without rising from
the bench, he seized hold of the schoolmaster with the words, "Take a
seat, pray," and forced him down on the nearest chair in spite of his
resistance. "We're pleased to give you it. _Psia krew_, only no
excuses."

Boehnke had stammered something about not wishing to give trouble, about
not being hungry, about going away immediately. But the farmer had
given a boisterous laugh as usual, and had said that the schoolmaster
had better tell that to the marines, for he didn't believe it. He
had probably been brought up in the same way as his wife, eh? She
had always worn shoes and stockings as a child, and had been as
dainty-looking as a doll; but her little bread-basket had been as empty
as a barn before harvest. She had been as thin as a church mouse in
those days.

The schoolmaster saw Mrs. Tiralla give her husband a second look, but
there was more than disdain in her look this time--something else
gleamed in the depths of those dark eyes. Then she turned away and went
out of the room without saying a word.

"Heigh, Sophia, be quick!" shouted the man after her.

And then he began singing her praises to the schoolmaster. Mr. Tiralla
loved to have visitors; he was so delighted to have an opportunity of
talking about his wife and his happiness to somebody. He bragged about
everything, and dilated loquaciously upon matters that a husband does
not generally mention to other men. His Sophia had a wonderful figure,
a wonderful figure! As slender as a birch! And she was so dainty, slim
in the waist and still rounded, broad across the hips, soft and warm
like a partridge [Pg 73] or like one of those little pigs made of
marzipan, which Wolkowitz, in Posen, used to put in his window at
Christmas time. And her bosom! Would you