in that the man tried to pull the apron away; she held it
firmly pressed against her face. Her slender fingers, which for a
farmer's wife were singularly soft, had an enormous power of
resistance.

He felt quite dismayed. "My heart, my dove, Sophia, what is the matter
with you?" He tried in vain to catch a glimpse of her face. "Confound
you, woman, why are you grinning?" he suddenly roared, turning to the
maid who was still standing in the same place with a broad smile on her
face. "Drat you! it's you who have vexed the mistress."

"No, no, Panje, not I. It was the rats, I swear it. If only the
_gospodarz_ would go down into the cellar he would see for himself how
they run on the floor and jump up the walls. And in my kitchen he can
see the cockroaches--hundreds of thousands, hundred thousand millions
of them! Some day they'll fall into Pan Tiralla's food, and then the
master will see them for himself."

"Just you try to do it!" Tiralla raised his heavy hand as if to strike
the maid, but she evaded him as adroitly as she before had evaded her
mistress. It was so ludicrous to see her duck down behind her mistress
and make use of her as a bulwark, that the uncouth man roared with
laughter. "You needn't fear, you idiot," he said good-naturedly. "I'm
not going to hit you. I know very well that you're a little devil, but
I don't for a moment think you'll put any dirt into my plate."

"Oh, no," she assured him ingenuously, "I won't do that," and she came
out from behind her mistress.

He pinched her firm cheek with his hairy hand. It hurt, and his rough
fingers first left a white, then a burning red mark; but she put up
with it in silence. No, the _gospodarz_ wasn't angry. He was really
much [Pg 9] better than his wife. All at once Marianna thought that her
master was to be pitied. She drew a little nearer to him and threw him
a glance full of promise from under her half-closed lids. If the old
man wanted she was quite willing.

But Tiralla had only eyes for his wife. He continued to beg for a look
from her. There was something ridiculous in the way this strong,
already grey-haired man worried about this delicate, dainty little
woman. "Sophia, my darling, what is the matter? Look at me, my dove,
pray don't cry."

He succeeded at length in taking the apron away from her face. But when
he tried to kiss her cheek her eyes sparkled, and she spat at him like
an angry cat. "Oh, you've hurt me! Pooh, how you smell of manure