la was filled with a wild fury; she would have liked to hurl
her husband out of the carriage. If only he were lying in the snow; if
only the wheels would go over him; if only she could seize the reins
and whip up the horses, "_Huj_, _het!_" Free, free! But--then her head
drooped and a sudden sadness came over her--she had not the courage to
do it. She had put the rat poison in the lumber-room in the old gaily
painted chest from her girlhood, where nobody would look for it. She
had told her husband that the rats had eaten it all, and he had
believed her. He had not been surprised that they had not found any
dead rats, for it is a well-known fact that animals hide in any hole
they can find when they have been poisoned. There they die. If only she
had not been so terrified when Marianna shrieked "Poison, poison!" How
awful it would be if that big man were to roll his eyes and foam at the
mouth and shriek, "Poison, poison!"

"Holy Mother!" she said to herself as she folded her hands under her
fur cloak, "look down on me. Thou gracious one, lend me thy assistance
in what [Pg 90] I'm about to do." To do it alone was too great an
undertaking; would she ever, ever find courage to do it again? It had
not seemed so difficult the first time. But the saints had not willed
it; the maid, that idiot! had upset the coffee, and her husband had not
got a single drop of it. What a pity, thought Mrs. Tiralla regretfully.
How could she have felt so happy that morning when she saw her husband
sitting at the breakfast-table safe and sound? He grew more and more
repugnant to her every day. How long--how long would she have to bear
it? Had Heaven no understanding? So many husbands died and left wives
to weep and mourn for them, and he--he--she wouldn't shed a single tear
for him, she was sure of that. She would laugh, laugh! Ha, and to-night
she would dance, dance! She felt as though she must deaden all feeling.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Tirallas were anxiously awaited. The ball had no attraction as long
as Mrs. Tiralla was not there.

As their carriage rumbled up to the market-place little Zientek, in
evening dress and a tall hat on his fair hair, rushed to the hotel door
to receive them. Thank goodness, there they were! He, as master of the
ceremonies, had suffered agonies at their nonarrival. What should they
have done with all those bouquets for the cotillon? Half of them would
have been enough.