nly she
could have gone into a convent, how happy she would have been there.
All that filled her once more with horror. She had been so terrified on
her wedding night, when her husband, intoxicated with joy and wine, had
embraced her; so terrified when she felt she was about to become a
mother against her will; so terrified when the nurse had laid the
little live girl on her bosom. She had pulled herself together and
endured it when she felt the little seeking mouth at her breast,
although it was as if a stream of icy-cold water were running down her.
But then, when her husband had appeared, had placed himself near the
bed in which she lay so feeble, so weak, so at his mercy, and had said
with such a satisfied smirk, "_Psia krew_, we've done that well!" then
she could not restrain herself any longer. She had uttered a cry, a
feeble, plaintive, yet piercing cry, and had [Pg 26] reared herself up
with her last strength, so that the little creature on her breast
had begun to whimper and whine like a young puppy. The nurse had
hastened to the bedside, quite terrified, and had made the sign of the
cross--"All good spirits!" No doubt she thought that the "Krasnoludki,"
the wicked dwarfs, wanted to steal the new-born child. She had quickly
thrown her rosary round the infant's neck, and had sprinkled the bed
with holy water. But the young mother had burst into tears--into
hopeless, never-ending tears. Then Mrs. 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. It was high time to urge her
husband to start for Gnesen. Perhaps he was still lying in bed. She
dressed in angry haste. She did not arrange her thick hair with her
usual care--her hands were trembling, she was in a hurry. No sound of
wheels reached her attentive ear, the man could not be taking the
carriage out of the coach-house. Her husband must still be sleeping.

Hastily throwing on her skirt, and without waiting to fasten her
blouse, she ran across the stone passage to the room into which she had
been drawn as a trembling bride, and in which her little girl had been
born. There he was, still lying in the bi