ust before she had left home. She felt so
much more unhappy now, really so miserable. She would have liked to
stop up her ears so as not to hear that twanging music. The dancing
disgusted her. She had never gone to a dance as a child. What would her
priest have said if he had seen her that evening? Father Szypulski was
not so strict; but she would be strict with herself. She wouldn't go
into the ballroom [Pg 101] again, she would drive home and sit by
Rosa's bed and be her guardian angel. Perhaps she would then see some
of those wonderful things that had been revealed to the child. She
would pray for it, pray for happy dreams. She longed so ardently, so
impatiently for happiness.

She called to a waiter who was running past in a short black jacket and
a white apron spotted with gravy, and sent him back to her husband.
Would Mr. Tiralla kindly tell them to bring the carriage round, it was
time to be going? The cocks were already crowing in the little yards
behind the labourers' cottages.

She remained standing in the cloak-room, gloomily gnawing her Up, with
Mariechen, who was still sobbing on account of her blouse, as her
companion. She had hidden herself behind the clothes-rack, nobody would
discover her there. Vain hope! Scarcely had the waiter given the
message than the whole flock of her partners came rushing in. Sophia
Tiralla wanted to go--go away now? But they wouldn't let her go, even
if they had to make a wall of their bodies before the door. Zientek
wrung his hands in despair; if she went away the whole cotillon would
be spoilt, that up-to-date cotillon with all those bouquets.

They discovered her and brought her out from behind the rack. They
begged, flattered, teased, threatened, and swore loudly that they
wouldn't let her go, she would have to remain and dance.

"Of course she'll stop and dance!" bawled Mr. Tiralla from the doorway
leading into the ballroom.

What, he as well? No, she wouldn't stop, not even a quarter of an hour
longer, hissed the woman like a serpent that has been trodden on. "Tell
the carriage to come round," she said to the waiter in a curt, shrill
voice. Then, without looking at her husband, she [Pg 102] added, "I'm
going. If you don't want to go, you can stop. I'm going."

Mr. Tiralla looked very discomfited; but then he grew angry. What, to
be so horrid to him before all those people? A wife had to obey. He was
the one who had to decide. He was very drunk, or it would never hav