oon get married
now, would soon have children, many little grandchildren-girls as small
as this one, and he gazed once more at the floor. There she was, the
little girl who could not reach up to the table. He had long ago chosen
a fine, handsome husband for his Rosa. "Look out, he'll soon be coming
now." He nudged his daughter with his elbow, and blinked at her with
the same expression in his eyes as when he [Pg 302] had been thinking
of Marianna. Then he chuckled to himself. What a joke, what a joke! He
tried to slap his knee, but he could not; all at once his arm felt
paralyzed, as heavy as lead, and his tongue obeyed him even less than
his arm. He stretched it out after every sound, but the sounds would
not form themselves into words; his furred tongue trembled the whole
time.

Oh, what did her father want? Rosa was terrified. How horridly he
looked at her with his blood-shot eyes, and why did he wag his tongue
like that? "Speak!" she implored him in her terror. "What did you want
to say? Do speak."

But he took no more notice of her, his eyes were fixed on the door. The
man he had chosen for his little daughter must come that way. He stared
and grinned, and then turned up the whites of his eyes. At that moment
something cracked either in the wall or stove that sounded like a
knock. Aha! he was knocking already.

"Come in." All at once Mr. Tiralla's tongue again obeyed him. Look! was
that not Becker, slender and nice-looking, who embraced Rosa with a
bridegroom's impatience?

The drunken man sat grinning, as one picture after the other flashed
across his sick brain. "Very good, very good," he mumbled, smacking his
lips. He gave Rosa a push, "Come, kiss him too, it's Becker, you know.
Handsome fellow, good fellow, isn't he? Sweet little bride. I'll look
the other way." He gave a hoarse laugh, that came from his throat like
a hiccough, and put his hand to his eyes; but he peeped underneath it.
"Young Martin, young Rosa--many little ones--one--two--three." He made
a fearful grimace as he showed their heights a little above the [Pg
303] floor. "Grandpa Tiralla is glad--many, many--little Martins,
little Rosas--all going to console him--aha!"

He attempted to pat Rosa and draw her on his knee, but she thrust him
away with a cry of shame and aversion. Pressing her hands to her ears
and closing her eyes tightly she rushed out of the room.

The madman followed her with astonished eyes. Who was that? "Hi, hi!"

No an