e had never felt so sorry for anybody in his life, and he was not
soft-hearted as a rule. He longed for her return. She probably felt
ashamed of what had happened, otherwise she would have returned long
ago.

Mr. Tiralla was also growing impatient. The gin didn't taste half so
good if his Sophia hadn't taken the first sip of it, and he didn't care
for the beer at all. He shouted again for the maid, and when she came
with the bottle of Tokay and a large tray of eatables he said to her
angrily, "Put it down. Where's your mistress? _Psia krew_, what's
become of her?"

Marianna shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know why the Pani doesn't
come. _Gospodarz_ must know best himself."

"Confound you! Call her. She is to come."

The maid disappeared. A few minutes later she stuck her head in at the
door and said with a sad look, "Pani can't come, the Paninka is worse
again; oh, [Pg 75] she's very ill." Then she withdrew as quickly as
possible.

The glass which Mr. Tiralla hurled after her only hit the door, and
then broke into a thousand pieces.

The schoolmaster could not stand it any longer. What was the good of
staying there? Of course, she wouldn't show herself any more. Such bad
luck! Why on earth should that stupid, red-haired child just get worse
now? Or was it only an excuse? Oh, of course, it was an excuse. She
would be sitting upstairs in a corner, bowed down with shame and
weeping, weeping so much that her beautiful figure--broad across the
hips, a waist as slender as a birch, slim and still rounded--shook with
it. Although the young fellow tried his utmost not to think of it, he
could not help it; he saw her the whole time just as the old man had
described her to him. He changed colour; one moment he felt hot, the
next cold. Mr. Tiralla went on filling his glass with beer, gin, and
Tokay, the one after the other, and he drank more than he was
accustomed to in his absent-mindedness. He was thinking of nothing but
her. He could not believe that he was to leave the house without seeing
her once more. So he sat and sat, until the sky grew darker and darker
and the early afternoon turned into pitch-dark night. At last he rose
from his chair with despair in his heart. He had attained nothing of
all he had meant to attain; he hadn't offered her any books, he hadn't
secured her for a dance at the Gradewitz ball, he hadn't even inquired
about the child, which had been his nominal reason for coming to
Starydwor. He felt f