e
occurred to him to oppose his wife's wishes in this way. And that was
what made him now shout, "Confound you, woman! You shall not drive; for
I intend stopping here as long as I choose--until six, seven, or eight
o'clock, if I choose."

"Stop," she said icily, but her eyes glowed. "Then I'll walk."

No, she couldn't do that, surely she wouldn't do that. That would be
quite impossible through _that_ snow.

But she did not listen to her admirers' persuasions; she tore her fur
cloak down from the peg and threw her shawl over her head. She felt
that if they did not let her go she would burst into tears--into loud,
hopeless tears. She stamped her foot defiantly; why did they all stare
at her with such stupid, glassy eyes? And Mr. Tiralla, was he already
asleep? "_Dalej!_" she said curtly, and her voice sounded like the cut
of a whip, "_dalej!_"

He obeyed her. What else was there for him to do if his dear little
wife was so anxious to get home? "Women are amorous little doves," he
lisped, "they always want to be going home to their nests." Laying his
arm heavily round her neck he stammered caressingly, "Yes, yes, I'm
coming, my dove, only have patience." And then he gave such a sly wink
with his glassy eyes that the men broke into a laugh, which resembled
nothing so much as a horse whinnying.

Mrs. Tiralla had shrunk back. A wave of burning [Pg 103] colour mounted
to her pale face. Oh, if he treated her in that way, was it surprising
that they all ran after her like that? But they should not imagine that
she was ready to cast herself into the arms of the first man who came
along--far from it.

Throwing her head back with a curt, scornful movement, and restraining
her tears with the utmost strength of will, she said, forcibly jerking
out every word, for she could hardly speak, her lips trembled so, "You
can lie on the threshold, as you've done before, you braggart!"

Now the laugh was on her side. They were all delighted to think that
Mr. Tiralla had been reprimanded in that way. Why did he brag like
that? They also found favour with the ladies, but they didn't boast of
it in that way. What did this vulgar peasant want with such a dainty
little wife? A milkmaid would have been good enough for him. They all
applauded the little woman, who seemed to have grown a head taller, she
held herself so erect. But when Mr. Schmielke, who now hoped to win the
prize, bent his knee and said jokingly, "_Padam da nog!_" and then,