d his own farm. It was as though
it had disappeared from the globe, or as though he had nothing more to
do there.

It happened now and then that Mr. Tiralla indulged in too much
drink--now and then on special occasions such as the Sokol's
entertainment, or lately the Gradewitz ball--who wouldn't have done
that? But as a rule Mr. Tiralla was what you might call a sober man.
The fact was that he could stand a great deal. But this evening he had
drunk nothing but gin. He had felt so sad, oh, so sad; he didn't know
himself why he had felt so sad. He had known for a long time that his
Sophia was very irritable, so that couldn't have caused it; he had also
known that his Rosa was a very pious child; really too pious, a
remarkably pious child. But to-day there was something else, something
that weighed him down to such a degree, that it had almost broken his
heart. He had to drink in order to get rid of the weight that was
oppressing him; drink until he was intoxicated. And he could only
arrive at that state with the help of gin.

[Pg 134]

The acquaintances he had met at the inn had been very much surprised at
his behaviour. Mr. Tiralla was so quiet; he didn't brag at all about
his Sophia. It was as though he had been put to silence. The priest had
said a few kind words to him about his daughter, when he came to the
inn for a short time after his supper; she was an excellent child, a
pure soul with whom God was well pleased. But Mr. Tiralla had only
smiled feebly.

He had sat staring into his glass with both elbows on the table, and
his red head buried in his hands, without saying a word. He had sat
like that for hours.

One man after the other had said good night, first the priest, then the
gendarme, then the forester, then Mr. Schmielke. Jokisch, as a good
neighbour, had stopped the longest with Mr. Tiralla. He had plucked at
his sleeve when the others had departed and had said in a confidential
tone, "Listen, old fellow, I must tell you that the others are saying
that Boehnke, the schoolmaster, comes too often to see you--I mean to
see your wife."

"He's been to see her this evening," said Mr. Tiralla, in a calm voice.
And when the other man had stared at him in a disconcerted kind of way,
he had continued in a voice that was still calmer, "You envious
scoundrel, _psia krew!_ Don't you know my Sophia? Do you think it's
that what's oppressing me? Not that, oh God, not that!"

And he had given a loud sigh, and bury